Vampire Hunter
by ForeverNDarkness
Summary: At 22, Trunks Briefs was no longer hunting the Androids, but Vampires...
1. The Hunters Are Hunted

_Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ or any of its characters. However all characters, events, and places that do not appear in the natural storyline belong to me. I get nothing out of this but a sense of satisfaction—and making people squirm sometimes._

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**June 2010**

Due to the evolution of writing style and the way the story has grown, I decided, some time ago, that the first original chapters of VH didn't quite fit with the rest of it. And thus began the laborious task of remaking them. They are strongly similar to the original in keeping with the story, but hopefully you'll notice some differences and improvements here or there.

This is the beginning of the revisions, ladies and gentlemen.

**Quick notes of notable changes for this chapter:**

Ages:

**Trunks: **24 years old

**Dominique Kellis: **Over 300 years old

**Satin Sin: **Well over 800 years old

[Of course, my sincerest thanks and gratitude to my Official Muse: Shahi!]

If anything proves to be too confusing, or you have comments, questions, or anything, feel free to leave them in the review box! I do enjoy hearing from everyone. :)

Thanks for sticking with me, folks!

And, please, enjoy.

**~FND**

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**Chapter 1**

_The Hunters are Hunted_

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There were those who would agree that it would be the right thing to do tonight: to patrol the city.

'_On patrol'_. Fuck patrol. He wasn't patrolling _shit_. He wasn't a cop or a superhero, wasn't responsible for any of these people. He'd saved the world already, hadn't he? He'd killed the Androids, stopped them before the human race had ceased to exist. He didn't owe humanity another damn thing. That was what he tried to convince himself every single night he went to work. He'd yet to succeed.

No. Screw it. Just _screw _it. People were ungrateful anyway. Let them save themselves for a change. There was no reason, none at all, for him to risk his soul and his life night after night for people that didn't mean a thing to him. That didn't _care _a thing for him...

His cobalt eyes were narrowed as he gazed down at the glittering city from his rooftop. The complex was abandoned now, leaving him with only the aging inventions of his mother and grandfather for company. The former technological empire of Capsule Corporation had lost its prestigious glory years ago. It meant that there was never anyone around, and for that he was grateful.

Stupid humans. They didn't appreciate shit. He should've let them get killed, should've stopped this a long time ago. What did it matter to him? His mother and everyone he loved had already died. Why should he give a damn about anyone else? It wasn't like they gave a damn about him... Most of them thought he was a freak, even when he looked after them. He wasn't one of them, and he'd never been very good at pretending to be. After the night he'd had, he was angry, and he was frustrated—with himself as much as with the world at large. No matter how he hated it, resented it, he would always save them. It went against all that he was _not_ to protect.

Disgusted with life altogether, he dematerialized and fazed in to his bedroom. With a sigh, he removed his jacket and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair, his bare torso bathed in white moonlight. The jacket was stained and bloody from the night's raid; he wondered if he should even bother to try and salvage it. His eyes were tired and his shoulders ached from work. It had been a long week. He scrubbed his calloused hands over his face irritably. He didn't get 'weekends' or 'days off' from _his _job. If he did, it was quite possible that the world would end.

Sometimes he wondered if that was such a bad thing...

"How much time do you spend up there?"

He turned in the dark and glared at the beautiful face hovering outside his window. He wasn't in the mood for visitors—especially ones he couldn't stand for the life of him. Without a glance backwards, he knew that his sword was within arm's reach. He could get it if he needed it. He kept his attention riveted on the newcomer, too well-trained to take his gaze away from her. "I'm busy, Kellis." His voice was impassive, indifferent. "What do you want?"

The pale face was pretty, young and unlined. Her dark hair was loose, straight, tucked behind her ears to keep her vision free. Anyone looking at her would peg her age around late teens; they'd be off by quite a bit. He trusted her about as much as he trusted a rattlesnake—hell, he _liked_ snakes more than he did her. Although it was rare for her for make an appearance, Trunks didn't appreciate the courtesy of a visit. She bent low, peered at him through the crack between glass and windowsill. "I need a place to crash," she answered.

There was an old saying: _ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer._ Blue eyes glittered with irritation. "And what the hell makes you think I'd let you stay with me?" he asked stonily, undaunted by the fact that there was a woman standing outside his fifth story window. He'd seen stranger—and far more disturbing—things in these last few years.

She shrugged her shoulders and sent him a calm smile. "You've got the extra rooms. Why not?"

"Go away, Kellis," he grunted, massaging the knot in his right shoulder. "You have that shack in the mountains. Go stay there until I can be bothered to skewer you."

"Oh, come on." Her smile became a pout. "Don't make me beg."

"You've no idea how satisfying that would be." He worked not to make a face at her. God, she annoyed him. "But I want you pleading for your life—not my spare room."

"Just for the morning?" She cast a cautious glance over her shoulder. "I'll be gone before midnight tomorrow. Please?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. He'd never heard the word 'please' from her before. Regardless... He was tired, in no mood to play nice. "How long do you plan on bothering me?" he demanded of her, raking a hand through his wind-tousled lavender hair.

Her green gaze was intent, unwavering. "Until you give in," she replied decisively.

Annoyance heated his blood and thinned his already delicate temper. "Then I take it that Dominique Kellis doesn't understand the word 'no'."

"Bingo." There wasn't a hint of smugness in her voice, as he'd expected. In fact, she seemed almost unusually well-behaved. "I'm not going to go away," she informed him quietly.

Trunks stared at her for a long, hard minute, weighing his options. He'd rather have her in a controlled environment instead of running loose around his property while he attempted to sleep. He was a light sleeper, but he wasn't sure he wanted to take that risk—not with Dominique Kellis. "I can't believe I'm about to let my enemy into my house," he grumbled to himself.

Dominique moved silently as she lifted the glass, slid beneath it. "Technically, we're only business rivals, you know," she said conversationally, climbing over the windowsill. "It's just how the game goes. I don't have anything against you, not personally. Does that mean we can't socialize when you're not working?"

He stared at her incredulously. "You tried to kill me," he reminded her stiffly. "On numerous occasions."

She arched a dark brow speculatively. "Oh, as if you never tried to stick a knife in me."

He kicked off one boot, the other following to thud against the floor. "Stop complaining. I missed, didn't I?"

Dominique smiled, exposing her sharp white teeth. "You know, Mr. Briefs, you're pretty decent for an Executioner. Sometimes I wonder how you ever earned the nickname 'the Hunter'." She tucked her hands in her pockets, rocked lightly on the balls of her feet. Her eyes rested on his ruined jacket. "And then I remember what you do for a living."

Trunks scowled at her, already regretting his brief—and insane—moment of kindness. "My work day's done for now, Kellis. Don't make me have to sign in for overtime." He rested a hand on one of the sharp stilettos of carved wood in the holster hooked to his belt. "You try my patience."

"Mmm... you're a _feisty_ mortal tonight, aren't you?" she murmured, batting her long, ebony lashes at him.

Trunks caught her by her elbow and pulled her towards the door. He would not be toyed with, not tonight, not by a filthy vampire. He knew she was just doing it to get a rise out of him and he was frustrated that she'd succeeded. "Go to bed before you find yourself on the receiving end of my sword," he ordered, shoving her into the hall.

Dominique placed a hand over her heart, a look of feigned distress on her attractive face. "Such cruel words! You've stricken me to the bone, sir!" she simpered.

Trunks raised his fist threateningly. "I'll strike more than that if you don't beat it!" Just because she was a woman didn't mean he wouldn't strangle her.

"Lighten up," she laughed and vanished into the shadows.

Trunks did not appreciate or share her sense of humor. He slammed his door loudly, a slight vent for his frustration. It was engraved with protection spells; there was no worry of Kellis coming through it to terrorize him. With a low string of curses, he turned, stalked the length of the room, and flopped down face-first onto his firm mattress. Damn it, of all the nights to have to deal with Kellis, this was the wrong one. He'd already spent the night staking a nest; he'd had his fill of blood-suckers for one evening.

At twenty-four years old, Trunks Briefs was no longer hunting Androids, but vampires. He had gotten started in the business at the age of twenty, when he had come home one night to find a vampire with her fangs in his mother. Trunks hadn't been able to save her, and once again sought revenge. It seemed to be his lot in life...

It had been relatively easy to start wiping out the vampire race. Their strength was laughable, and their numbers were surprisingly fewer than widely-believed. It'd taken him a couple of years, but now, to his knowledge, there were only two Vampires left.

One just happened to be his present houseguest: Dominique Kellis, formerly Lady Rain Marie of Ireland. Despite being incredibly annoying and in his way, he knew that he could take her out at any time, if he felt like it. Though he'd yet to see her hunt or kill anything in the years he'd known her, she was still a bloodsucking leech. And all leeches needed to be eradicated. But first, there was a bigger fish he wanted dearly to gut and fry.

The other was Chryssatin Sinclair, now known as Satin Sin, from America. She was the one Trunks was after. Chryssatin was the vampire from hell, his number one enemy—and the one who had murdered his mother. She was elusive and manipulative, using her powers of mind-control and seduction to lure victims into her traps. The fools who followed her were numerous and undoubtedly dead. She was the stuff vampire legends were made of.

Trunks had come close to killing Satin last fall when he'd found her in the comatose state that fell over vampires at sunrise. It was chancy finding Satin; she bounced around her various strongholds as often as the moon waxed and waned. It was even chancier finding her asleep. Unless she felt perfectly secure, the vampiress could fight off her sun-sleep as long as she needed to. She was old enough and powerful enough to last for days without sleeping. Trunks had been extremely fortunate to find her vulnerable. It wouldn't have been hard to take her out right then and there.

Except for one little problem. Kellis had still been awake as he'd stood tensely over Satin with his blade. Trunks remembered when she'd opened the door, eyes wide and blue. For a moment, neither of them had moved. Then he'd flung a stake at her, she'd dropped to the ground to duck, and then all he knew was a terrible burning pain across his back.

While he'd been distracted with Dominique, Satin had awakened and raked magically-lengthened nails over his skin as she jerked awake in bed. The result of Dominique's interference had been a nasty swipe of scarring under his right shoulder blade and down across his spine. The scars stopped just short of his left hip and were nearly two inches in width. He looked as if he'd been mauled by a very large cat; only by busting a shaded window had he managed to escape. The vampires had dived to avoid the wide beam of sunlight that had suddenly flooded the room, leaving him to escape. The wounds had required the touch of both holy water and blessed silver, and the pain had been monstrous. He owed her quite dearly for that, he remembered suddenly.

Trunks rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling rafters. Those two were nothing but trouble. They were vampiric Sisters, with Satin as Dominique's Sire. Not only did that mean they shared a great deal of power between them, but it also meant that they were never too distant from each other. To his disgust and fervent anger, having Dominique in Capsule Corp. could only mean that Chryssatin could not be far away.

With a grunt of contempt, Trunks threw his pillow at the wall. He hated Chryssatin, but she happened to be fond of him. Said he was cute. Said she _liked_ strong men. Disgusting creature. He felt his insides knot at the mere thought. By allowing Kellis to stay, he'd practically invited Chryssatin over.

Just what he needed.

"Mmm... Thinking about me, are you, Hunter? I'm flattered."

_Well, shit! _Trunks sat up and rolled, reaching for his sword, only to feel Satin Sin's cold hand close over his own. Her skin was soft, her grip a steel trap. He cursed himself as a fool for not locking the window after Kellis. Leaving it opened had kept the spell unarmed and allowed the older vampire access.

"Ah-ah-ah... None of that now." Satin easily moved the blade out of reach, her smile slow and warm. "With a welcome so improper, one would think you were not pleased to see me."

Trunks watched flatly as she slid into his bed beside him. Running from her would do no good, and he would not give her the satisfaction of trying to hunt him down. It would appeal to her far too much. "Get out, Chryssatin," he ordered coldly. "I have to deal with your little Sister already. I don't want or need you, too."

Her tawny-gold eyes were low-lidded as she gazed at him appreciatively. She seemed content simply to take him in. "Hmm. I knew Dominique was here." She tilted her head, her dark wavy hair tumbling over one shoulder. "That's not why I came..."

"Then why _are_ you here?" he demanded, his eyes darting to where his sword was. It was a good three feet away, and he had no doubts that Satin could stop him before he got close enough to use it.

Satin eyed his physique, trailing her icy fingers across his chest. His skin was always so firm, so _hot _against her cool flesh. She'd always enjoyed his fine build and frame, touching him. She was quite aware of his opinion of her; in fact, his stubbornness and lack of submission to her prowess was part of what attracted him to her. The hunt was always half the fun. "I came to see you, of course."

"Isn't it a little late for one of your nightly visits?" Trunks' voice was even, emotionless. He'd learned by this point not to reveal a thing to Satin; she absolutely thrived off the emotions she stirred in people, fed off fear and anger—not to mention lust. She was damned skilled at riling lust, he had to confess—even a fervently devoted priest would fall prey easily to her charms. "You usually don't bother me after two A.M."

Satin laughed softly and ran a hand through his short lavender locks, her eyes remaining locked with his. It had never particularly mattered to her that he was not susceptible to the mind games she could've employed. He was just too entertaining to toy with for her to truly mind the inconvenience. "Am I really that predictable?"

The seduction was wasted on him. "No. You're just really that annoying."

She propped herself on her elbows, stared at him. "I take it, Mr. Briefs, that you don't want me here."

Trunks rose from the bed, pulling away from her gentle, soothing touches. His mind was too strong to be ruled by his traitorous body—most of the time. "It took you long enough to figure it out," he said, frowning down at her.

Damn her and her beauty. Had she been a human and not a murdering monster, Trunks could've possibly seen himself with her. What man wouldn't? Those sharp amber eyes. That jet-black hair rippling down her shoulders. That pale skin, like fresh snow and just as inviting to touch. What man wouldn't dream of running their hands over those curves, taking that sensual mouth? It was fucking infuriating.

The low chuckle in the dark brought his attention back to the vampire before him. She watched him smugly, reclining still on her elbows. "Your mind wants me to go, but it seems the rest of you wants me to stay."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. "I'd thank you to stay the hell out of my head," he said tightly.

"I do not have to be in your mind to know want when I see it." Satin lifted and dropped her shoulders delicately. "And, after all, is it my truly fault that you cannot stop thinking about me?" she inquired innocently. "The body desires what it desires, Hunter…"

"It is your fault." He flexed his fingers into fists, concentrated on the sensation. "I wouldn't think about you if you weren't here."

"Oh, but I am here." She smiled ardently, her offerings clear in her expression. "You could put my presence to good use. It has been a long time for you, has it not, Hunter?"

Trunks fought back a shiver as those calculating ocher eyes fastened onto his throat, watching his pulse. He could almost feel her gaze, as if she were still stroking fingers over his skin. The muscles in his stomach tightened. God, he needed her out of here.

"You do not need to fear me," she invited. "I do not bite much."

_Damn you, you bitch,_ Trunks thought vehemently, aiming the oath in her direction. Annoyance flared in those golden eyes of hers. She kept her smile in place, but he could see that she'd heard him. Satin had never been one to handle insults well. "Sorry to disappoint you, Sinclair, but I don't need any new holes in my body."

Satin tossed her head, the black silk curtain of her hair tumbling over her shoulder. "Who said anything about me feeding on you?" she murmured, her voice hinting her irritation. "While I have no doubt that blood such as yours would be divine, you should remember that vampires do hunger in _other_ ways, dear Hunter—just as you do."

"Leave, Chryssatin," he commanded. "I don't need a reason to kill you after all you've done—but you're very close to giving me one more to add to the long list."

She glanced at the open window and cursed her luck softly. "What a pity." Dawn was approaching. There was no more time to play games with her favorite mortal. "It seems as if I have less time than I originally thought, Hunter." Satin rose and went to him, pulling him into a languid kiss that would've melted any other man to their knees in supplication.

Trunks stood stiffly in her embrace, pursing his mouth as tightly as he could. His hand twitched for his sword, so he could attack, attack her _now_, and get the bitch off of him. He despised the feeling of her frosty hands on his body, her cold lips on his warm ones. He couldn't struggle, wouldn't give her the pleasure in restraining him against her. And he hated the want, the need she could force to stir in him. This had become all too familiar. She enjoyed touching him, especially his scars. Chryssatin loved to touch the one that stretched across his back most of all—she loved it most because she'd given it to him.

Her lips moved to his throat and Trunks pushed her away with the rare violence he sometimes displayed. She kept her footing, laughed softly. He swiped his blade up from the floor and had it aimed at her heart in the time it took to blink. "Get _out_," he whispered fiercely.

She studied him and his sword with amusement prevalent in her golden eyes. She loved to annoy him, just reveled in pissing him off. It gave her the strangest measure of satisfaction and pleasure. "You've given me my cue to leave, I believe," she murmured, her smile small and charming.

Trunks raised the sword to her throat. His hand didn't tremble as it once had when he was young. He didn't shake at the thought of taking a life—a monster's life wasn't sacred. He knew already that he couldn't kill her this way; she was too fast for him to be able to decapitate her in one slice. But it would force her to keep her distance. "Go. Don't ever come into this place again."

Satin grinned darkly at him and dipped into a lissome curtsy. "As you wish, Mr. Briefs. Although it truly is an old wives' tale, this vampire does not go where she is not wanted." She sauntered by him, her hips swaying tauntingly. "But I'd like to remind you," she whispered as she approached his window, "that my bedroom door is _always_ open for you..." With that, she flashed him a mischievous wink and took off into the fading dark of night.

Trunks growled, and overcome with frustration, he threw his sword, leaving it to bury itself in the wall. The blade thudded and quivered into the old wood. He dropped into bed and proceeded to kill his pillow with teeth and fingers. When the flames of rage and frustration had burned away, the exhaustion rose from the ashes and took him down into a fitful sleep.

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**FND: **And there you have it, my friends. The newly-revised first chapter of VH. Several more will be posted throughout the night and into the morning. Please, let me know how you feel about the changes! Better? Liked it more the other way? Comments, suggestions, unnoticed errors/typos and opinions are greatly encouraged! Click the little button, guys. I'm dying to hear from ya. :D


	2. Ally with An Adversary

_Disclaimer found in Chapter 1._

**FND: **As of **JUNE 2010**, this is the newly-revised Chapter 2.

**Notable Changes for this Chapter: **None.

Questions, comments, and opinions are welcome via reviews!

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Chapter 2  
_Ally with an Adversary  
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_"Kellis!"_

Groggily, she opened her eyes. A few blinks in the darkness assured her that night had fallen once more. The door to the room she'd chosen was being pounded on furiously. Although 'chosen' was maybe too nice of a word for it. She'd wandered down the hall of the floor below, touching each door until she found one that didn't shock her fingertips. She had always expected the Hunter's resting place to be strictly-warded. Perhaps the Hunter had come to slap on an eviction notice. Her stay was done.

He roared her name again. Good lord, he was pissed. What the hell for? She hadn't even left the room since arriving the night before! Having a vague idea what may have set him in such a mood, Dominique closed her eyes and stretched her senses. She picked up remnants of a vampiric aura from the room above hers and had her hunch confirmed. Oh boy. That had to mean that Satin had visited the previous night. That explained a lot, now didn't it?

"_KELLIS!"_ Trunks bellowed as he kicked the closed door open. The wood splintered with a loud cracking sound as it gave under his foot, leaving the door to hang forlornly by its hinges. The damaged locking mechanism clanked to the floor. Apparently, he'd remembered that this was his house after all. His expression was furious as he approached the bed, glaring down at her.

A low growl of annoyance rose in her throat as her eyes fell on the nuisance looming above her. Just because it was night didn't mean she was ready to wake up just yet—and definitely not so rudely. She eyed him balefully, hair tousled as she propped herself up on one elbow. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" she demanded around a yawn.

His azure eyes were almost glowing in the moonlight, but unlike many of her weaker race he'd encountered, Dominique wasn't intimidated by him. He'd yet to draw blood on her and she doubted he'd be able to do it now. He could damn well glare all he wanted; she'd glare right back. But that didn't change the fact that he was absolutely livid. _And most likely looking for a target, _she reasoned dryly. _How lovely…_ "What _is _it?"

Trunks scowled darkly at her and caught her by the collar of her shirt, jerking up from the bed in one swift yank.

The vampire stared at him in surprise, hanging tensely in his grip. He was so much taller than her, her feet dangled a few inches from the floor. When she realized he actually had _not_ come to plunge a knife through her heart, her anger flared. Who the hell did he think he was, grabbing her like that? She'd done him no wrong. Her surprised turned to irritation.

"You called your Sister here, didn't you?" he demanded.

Dominique's eyes narrowed into slits. Of course that was what this was about. When _wasn't _her life complicated horribly by Satin? "She's completely fixated on you, you know. Very _interested_ in you. She'd come even if I don't call her—and believe me, I never have. Besides, did it ever occur to you that I came here to get _away_ from her?" Her fangs flashed in her snarl. "Now I'd suggest you put me down before I punch you."

Trunks dropped her abruptly. Dominique fell heavily back onto the bed, hissing as she struggled to regain her bearings. Oh, what she wouldn't give to live up to her threat and just _clock_ him one. The repercussions from Satin might just be worth the satisfaction. She straightened her shirt and blew an errant lock of hair from her field of vision, glowering at him.

Trunks stared right back, ignoring the palpable rage simmering from her. "You've overstayed your welcome, Kellis. Now get out."

She clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Was I ever really welcome?" she inquired darkly.

"No, but you've overstayed it nonetheless."

She rose with a preternatural grace he found annoying and swept by him without another word. Trunks crossed his arms and followed her, intent on making sure she didn't linger. Dominique glanced over her shoulder at him when she realized she was being followed, and stopped walking. She stood there in the hall, a hand on her hip and an eyebrow cocked. "And you would be wanting... what?"

"I want you to leave."

"I'm leaving, aren't I? Am I not going _fast_ enough for you, Hunter?" she snapped. Dominique frowned at him when he nodded. "You know, I can see now why you don't have that many friends. You're not a nice man, Mr. Briefs. You're what I'd call an asshole."

Trunks did not waver or rise to the bait. She could call him whatever the hell she wanted, as long as she did it from far away. "Stop stalling and leave," he said coldly.

"I did not call Satin here!" she protested. "If you're going to be pissed off at me about something, can't it at least be something _I _did for once?"

"I don't care whether you did or not. I want you out of my house." Trunks once again took her elbow and began to pull her towards the door. If she wouldn't leave on her own power, then she'd leave by his.

Enraged, Dominique drove her other elbow backwards and up, sending it flying right into the demi-Saiyan's face. Trunks released her with a curse and just as quickly, managed to capture her again. He ducked the flying fist and swept Dominique's feet from under her. They scrambled, rolled, tumbled through the warded door of the room at the end of the hall. They grappled for the upper hand on the carpeted floor of the dusty sitting room. Finally, Trunks sat heavily on top of Dominique and pinned her arms to her side, ending the struggle effectively.

Blood surged down his face from his nose. "You _bitch_," he hissed furiously to the woman struggling beneath his iron-clad grip. In the time it took for the blood to drip down to his chin, the injury had already healed, but that didn't make him any less infuriated about it.

Dominique didn't bother struggling anymore; it'd obviously be pointless. "I'm getting really sick and _tired_ of you manhandling me all the goddamn time," she spit at him, showing him that her fangs had lengthened considerably. Her green eyes had shifted to a flaring, electrifying blue. "If I didn't think Satin would be absolutely furious with me, I'd drain you dry myself, you arrogant little bastard!"

"Liar," Trunks snapped, keeping his hold tight on her. "You haven't murdered a single human as long as I've had the misfortune to know you exist. I'd suppose you'd lost your nerve, or were just a fucking coward from the beginning."

"Nerve?" Her voice dipped low until it was mocking, taunting. "Are you telling me that the immortals can possess emotions? That we could actually be _people_ capable of real feelings? Oh my goodness, why, I had no idea."

Trunks gave her a shake and was darkly rewarded with a stifled cry as her head snapped back against the unyielding floor. "Don't you play with me, Kellis, or I'll slit your throat right here and now!"

Dominique's fangs gleamed in the moonlight as she smiled coldly. There was no humor in that wicked grin of hers. "Now, see, I'd be so afraid of you, Hunter—if you hadn't left your sword back in your room."

Trunks was seething with hatred. By God, he'd been a fool to even speak with her, let alone allow her into his place of residence. He never learned; that was his problem. "I'll be very happy to see you burn in Hell, Kellis," he breathed angrily.

She stared at him blankly for a minute, her icy grin fading. "Seems we're both damned for eternity, hmm?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" he growled. Trunks did not like that look she was giving him. It was almost like...sympathy. It made his stomach clench. _It is a trap, another trick, another ploy she's learned from her Sister_, the Hunter in him reasoned over the unease.

The sharp blue of Dominique's eyes dimmed back into green. "What are you going to do once you've destroyed all of them?"

It was obvious what she meant. There was dark sarcasm in his tone when he decided, "I don't know, live happily ever after probably."

"That's not funny." Her brow furrowed into a scowl. "You'll be alone," she reminded him. "There are barely enough humans left to continue the race, never mind that they hate you anyway. The vampires will be completely extinct. You're no better than those Androids."

He shook her again, more violently this time. A grimace of pain flickered across her face but she didn't cry out. "Shut _up!_" he ordered.

Dominique continued defiantly. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Briefs. You've cheerfully murdered my kind to the point of total annihilation." Her eyes were locked with his, intense. "Isn't that what those machines did to _yours_?"

Trunks' fingers locked themselves around her throat, even though a distant part of him knew he could never kill her that way. Her hands flew up to curl around his wrist, to break his hold. At the moment, he didn't care. He didn't want to kill her just now, wasn't thinking straight enough to realize that. All he knew was that he just wanted her to shut _up_, just wanted her to stop talking. It sounded like something he'd once asked himself. It sounded just too close to the truth. It was hard enough to hear it from himself.

His fingers flexed strongly. Dominique's windpipe made a quick _crunch_ sound as it was crushed and she tried to gasp at the searing agony, her eyes widening as her back arched. She would heal in a matter of seconds, but that didn't mean she was immune to the pain. Dominique's eyes were half-closed, burned blue again by the pain as her hands fell limply to the floor. Her breath was a rattling hiss. "It's...true," she managed.

Trunks' hands fell from her throat, but she didn't get up. He suspected he'd maybe caused some real damage. "You still won't shut up." His voice was startlingly normal, calm.

"And still...you don't listen." Dominique's healing powers were taking effect. She could draw breath again, however painful it was. "You...you've lost everyone you've ever loved. Well, that makes two of us."

Trunks glowered down at her, but made no move to further restrain her. She wasn't about to go anywhere; another good minute or so of healing was necessary. "You've got your demonic Sister. Isn't that enough for you? You have _someone_."

Dominique's lips curled in an angry snarl. "You have no idea, do you? I hate Satin with everything I have, and I'd gladly go to hell if I knew I'd meet her there."

He squinted down at her. This... this was a new tactic. "Bullshit," he declared.

"It's true." Dominique's fangs were slowly melding into normal teeth. "She destroyed my family, my friends, forced vampirism on me... I want to hurt her, I want to kill her, and she knows it. But I just _can't_..." In her eyes flickered pain and sadness so raw, so _human_, that Trunks nearly averted his gaze. "I'm not strong enough; Satin's centuries older than I am, and that gives her powers you can't even comprehend."

"Why should I believe anything you tell me?" Trunks asked, frowning. Dominique had never played this sort of game before; it was more her Sister's forte to use emotions, to lure in, torment, and trap with feelings. It had never been Dominique's way, but who knew what she'd learned at Satin's right hand?

Dominique closed her eyes as if weary. "Because we both want Satin dead. Because we both want to avenge our loved ones." Her lashes fluttered as her lids parted, revealing a film of tears over her eyes. Her eyes searched his tan face. "You can go ahead and doubt me all you want," she whispered. "But I'll show you what she did. Then you can tell me that it's bullshit."

Trunks opened his mouth to protest, to scream _'No!'_, but Dominique was already working. She had opened a channel between their minds and her thoughts were surging into his at an alarming rate. He'd been too surprised to throw up his mental defenses. Trunks clutched his skull, yanking his hair against pain, his eyes clenched shut against the images flaring to life in his mind's eye.

_Bending over the body of a fallen woman, sobbing. So terrified, absolutely terrified. The blood, there was so much blood. Beyond the blood, the woman had the same facial structure as the child. A family member, slain as a pig for the slaughter.  
_

_A lone figure hovering behind her, laughing. The only one standing, the cause of this destruction. A beautiful goddess surrounded by ugly death. She had the voice of an angel, a voice that called her name now, softly, sweetly. It would mean the child's death. She could not fight her, could not flee. She was trapped, trapped until she herself died.  
_

_Years of abuse, torture, sick mind games. Raised at the right hand of evil, fighting the contamination of the angel's tainted darkness at every turn. Oh, the angel with the golden eyes was something like the plague: spreading death and decimation wherever she went, starting wars, destroying lives as the wind blows out flame. Those people. Those families. It nearly drove her mad. Cannot be broken, _willnot _be broken. _

_Rebellion led to pain, to hours locked up and beaten. It was all about learning to play the game, to hide the hatred and the fear, to do what was demanded without sacrificing her life or her beliefs. No longer a child now, but a young woman._

_And then, suddenly, what felt like mortal death. Pain. Unbearable pain. An agonized scream. No, no, no, it was to be taken from her, her one and only chance at freedom. Her death. She would never die now, would always live at the angel's side. Eternal servitude beneath the hands of a murderer. A permanent player in this horrible game of a life. She was trapped_—_and now there was truly no escape.  
_

Trunks trembled and let out a shuddering cry, panting heavily. His eyes were wide open and at the moment sightless. The connection broke, and the darkness of the night returned, the visions fading slowly. He could still hear the screams. Despite the overwhelming dizziness, he was dimly aware of the female vampire beneath him. He couldn't risk forgetting her existence, no matter how disoriented he was. He knew little of Dominique's past; he hadn't cared enough to know more than her former name and that Satin had sired her. Her existence only meant she was destined to die like the rest of them.

"Do you believe me now?" she whispered. She had remained still, exerting her powers through him, gauging his reaction. The reliving of the past had softened her expression into something sad, almost vulnerable.

"That..." He took a moment to find his voice, struggling to gather his thoughts into a sensible order. "That was Chryssatin." It wasn't a question. He stared down intently at Dominique with a shadow of the horrors he'd seen in his eyes.

"Yes." Her eyes flickered blue and a low, angry growl rose in her throat at the thought of Satin. "She came for me when I was a child."

"How old were you?" he wanted to know, slowly regaining his composure.

"Could we continue this conversation when we're not so... horizontal?" Dominique inquired without mischievousness. She wasn't flirting or playing the cynic now; she was utterly serious and sober.

Slowly, willing himself not to stumble, Trunks rose to his feet and sat gingerly down upon a nearby couch. His body ached as if he'd fallen from a very high distance, the price of journeying back so deeply into one's memories. He watched Dominique get up, dust herself off, and remain standing before him.

"Six," she told him finally, folding her arms around her body. "I had just turned six years old when Satin came. It was Christmas."

"And... your family never made it...did they?" His voice was steadier, without the shaky tremble it'd had moments before. He'd gotten good at recovering himself after being faced with such things. "She eradicated them, took you."

Dominique turned her head away, glaring almost hatefully at the full moon that shone outside the window. Trunks needed no verbal answer. Her tense silence was enough to tell him that all she held dear had not survived that fateful night. "How long ago was it?"

"A few centuries." She ran her hand up and down her arm, almost as if she were cold. "I'm not that old, you know."

"I could tell."

She raised her brows enigmatically but didn't face him. It was an interesting factor if he really could tell... It would mean he was rather sensitive for someone without sorcerer's blood. "Is my power that slight that you can tell how old I am?"

_Was she offended? _Trunks wondered, and startled himself by realizing who he was worrying about. This was Dominique Kellis, _vampire_! Why should he give a royal damn how she was feeling?

His conscience, long dormant, resurfaced in the back of his mind. _Because, you idiot,_ it shouted_, you know what it's like to lose the people you love!_

He snapped out of his thoughts and become conscious of the fact that Dominique was watching him again. By the intense look on her face, he could tell she was reading his thoughts, something she rarely did and only when he confused her. That didn't make it any less irritating at this point in time. "I really need a keep-out sign for my mind," he decided flatly.

She stared at him long and hard, her expression expertly blank. "Feeling sorry for me, are you?"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Trunks demanded, exasperated and frustrated. He couldn't stand the feelings seeing her past had stirred in him. The Hunter in him argued back logically that she could have made up those memories to get just this reaction from him. His gut reminded him that that was not Kellis' way. "You wanted me to feel bad for you."

"No. I wanted your help, not your damned sympathy." Dominique turned back towards the window, her mouth twisting grimly. "If all you're going to do is pity me, then I'll challenge Satin on my own. I don't fucking need you."

Trunks said nothing for a moment, only watching her. When he spoke, it was quietly, logically. "You'd die, you know. If not, then you would've gotten rid of her ages ago and done the whole world a favor. You can't do it, and you know it."

There in the white moonlight, with her eyes gleaming full of angry despair, Trunks was struck with a memory. How many times had he returned home to find his mother that way, gazing out the window with that hopeless look on her face after the Androids had destroyed another city? How many times had he watched her, wishing he could do _something_ to ease her pain and loneliness?

"Oh, but isn't this a surprise?" a voice murmured. "My two _favorite_ people."

Trunks jerked to his feet, alarmed, and Dominique whirled around, eyes wide and blue with surprise.

Satin stood at the threshold of the room and favored them with a slow, predatory smile.

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**FND: **There's not that many changes in this chapter, just a bit of a literary evolution. :) Once again, guys, let me know what you think! Better? Worse? Confused? I'm all ears!


	3. Untruths, Understanding, and the Undead

**FND: **Evening, ladies and gents, and welcome to the newly-restored VH Chapter 3. :)

**Notable Changes: **Thoughts are purely in _italics. _

But telepathic converations are _[italics inside of brackets]._

Got it? Awesome.

Please, my friends, read and enjoy!

**

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**Chapter 3  
_Untruths, Understanding, and the Undead_

_

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_

Satin's amber eyes shifted from the surprised Hunter to her vampiric Sister. Once the false smile faded, it was obvious that she was not pleased. Her skin radiated heat from a recent feeding. It gave her the blushing glow of someone alive; that could only mean that someone out there was dead. "So tell me, Dominique... I was under the distinct impression that you were to leave Mr. Briefs' residence tonight when you awoke. Why are you still here?"

Dominique was still, calm. Her eyes darkened back into emerald and a pouting smirk curled at her lips. No one would've been able to tell she was afraid. She had, after all, learned to play this game. She made a sulking noise and fisted her hands on her hips. "_Sis-ter_," she whined, sounding much like a younger sibling. "Why did you have to interrupt? The Hunter and I were just getting—" she lowered her voice meaningfully, "—_reacquainted_."

Satin blinked as if surprised and raised her brows at Trunks. She studied him for a moment, head cocked curiously. "Our dear Hunter doesn't seem very aroused, Dominique. I wonder if you are doing your job as a proper woman then. I am aware that you have little experience in these things…"

_[Follow my lead.]_

The voice whispered inside Trunks' mind. It was Kellis, pleading softly. Inwardly, Trunks wanted to do nothing of the sort. The thought of being with a vampire sickened him to the point of making him feel actually ill. But Dominique had a point: Chryssatin was going to kill both of them if they didn't make this convincing. Well. Kellis wasn't the only one who had learned how to pretend.

Silently, he shifted his position until he stood closer to the younger Sister. Eyes on Satin, he interlaced his fingers with Dominique's cold ones, lifted her knuckles to his lips. He thought she would taste of death, just as her Sister. But, no, Dominique's skin had the earthiness of touching his tongue to a clean stone. One of the vampire's hands gently touched his cheek and he kept himself still, struggled to keep his heart rate neutral. He'd learned to hide his emotions over the years. Well, it was time to put his skill to the test. "It's very rude to interrupt, Chryssatin," he murmured.

She crossed her arms and hummed softly, almost amused. "My, my, my..." Her eyes, those chilling, scheming golden eyes, ran over his body slowly. "You seem to be whistling a _very_ different tune tonight, dear Hunter. What is it that's changed?" She glanced down at her pale hands, moved her fingers. "Just the night before this, you were disgusted by my mere touch. And now, you're willing to let her caress you..." Satin turned to Dominique. "Do you have a hold on his mind? Is he subdued?"

"No. You are not the only one gifted in the powers of seduction," she said, smiling slightly at the tiniest hint of jealousy in Satin's voice. "He's simply mine for tonight."

"I see." Satin smiled at her, lowering her lashes as she practically purred sweetness. The pair's survival instincts flared madly. "He belongs to you, does he? Then why have you not marked him?"

Trunks felt a knot tighten in his gut. _Shit.  
_

But Dominique did not falter, did not show that she had been caught off-guard. "That's what we were about to do, Sister, before you had to go and interrupt us," she informed Satin with a hint of a sulk.

Silently, Satin walked a sharp, graceful circle around the pair, stopping directly before the demi-Saiyan. Her hands cupped her elbows as she leaned forward, studying him for a lengthy moment. "You are willing to be marked by a vampire?" she inquired finally. "To be bound to one of us for eternity?"

_No, no, no,_ his mind was screaming. But he had remembered this time to suppress his thoughts, as he had once leaned to hide his power. He met her gaze straight on. "Yes."

"Ah. Well then." Satin's lips were a hair's breadth from his. "I believe that I shall be the one to mark you then, my dear, stubborn Hunter..."

Without warning, Dominique put both of her hands on Satin's shoulders and heaved a mighty push. The elder vampire moved away, surprised by the force. She turned, fixed a gimlet stare on Dominique. Trunks wondered for only a moment if the younger vampire had broken their ruse. _"No!"_ Dominique berated darkly, spreading her arms and standing in front of Trunks. "You are _not_ touching him tonight, Satin! I staked my claim, and he is _mine_!"

Startled, Satin's face flushed deep rose with rage, her eyes flickering blue. Her nails dug into her palm, piercing little half-moons in her flesh. She seemed suddenly like a spoiled child denied a toy for the first time. "You rebel against me?" she snarled.

Dominique stood her ground, her aura blazing and her own blue eyes combatant. She stood toe-to-toe with her Sire. "I will not back down," she growled when Satin continued to stare her down. "I said that he's mine, Sister, and mine to claim. You have no right to come and try to take him from me. You have all the other males, any of them that you want—this one is the one I want and he belongs to me now. You can't have him."

Trunks moved quietly and as if natural to him, curled one arm around Dominique's waist, keeping his eyes on Satin as he sided with Kellis. It would not do at all, if their façade of lovers was broken through.

Satin's expression hinted at only mild irritation. But her fury came in the form of her power, her aura, rippling over them like the pounding waves of the ocean. And just like the ocean, it had the power to drag them under, drown them. The air grew thick with it, hard to breathe. It had been some time since Dominique had defied her, and never over something like this. _[__What makes you think I couldn't simply kill you and take him for myself?] _she inquired telepathically._  
_

Dominique drew herself to her full height, a timid-looking 5'5. Satin had posed this sort of question to her before, and the answer was always the same. _[__You used too much power to create me; a great deal of your strength would be gone, and you would be easy prey for the Hunter. Otherwise, you would've killed me centuries ago.]_

Her eyes simmered back into languid gold. _[__This pet of yours has made you forgetful of your place. Your respect is gone.]  
_

_You never had it, you bitch,_ Dominique thought bitterly, but kept the remark from her Sister's mental reach. Instead she answered, _[__I meant no disrespect. But I have never asked you for a damn thing. I'm not going to let you take this from me without a fight.]_

Satin remained still for a full minute before sighing. "Very well, then," she acknowledged aloud. She waved her hand as if to dismiss the idea of them being together. "You may have your human, Dominique. You're right in that you have not claimed one for yourself. And it will keep you busy and out of my hair for a time." Satin slanted them a dark look. "But I expect to see Trunks Briefs marked the next time we meet. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sister," Dominique whispered, bowing her head. "Thank you."

Trunks nodded slightly. He'd be damned if he'd let Dominique stick her fangs in him. Would Chryssatin really be able to tell if he wasn't marked? Vampires couldn't usually sense, but with Chryssatin as her Sire, he wasn't sure what Kellis could hide from her.

With that, Satin vanished as quickly and quietly as he had come, melding in with her surrounding darkness. When she was gone, and her suffocating aura of power had disappeared, Dominique sank out of Trunks' arms and into an armchair with a weak sigh. She sieved her fingers through her dark hair, aware that there was a tremor in her hands. "That was too close," she whispered.

"Tell me about it." Trunks dropped down onto the couch beside the chair. He rubbed his hands violently on his pants and over his arms as if there were filthy, earning himself a glare of reproach from Dominique.

"Was touching me really that bad?" she demanded crossly, offended. "Or would you feel better if you were coated in my blood instead, since _that_ doesn't seem to bother you overmuch?"

Trunks sent her a withering look, stabbing a finger in her direction. "You're pushing your fucking luck, vampire. I played along with your sadist of a Sister and I don't need any grief from you."

Dominique huffed indignantly and averted her eyes, banding her arms across her chest. She took some time to calm herself. After a few moments, she said, "I'm sorry. You _did_ help me with Satin. You didn't have to."

He wasn't going to explain that he'd didn't do it for her benefit. Warily, he touched his neck, feeling his pulse beat strongly beneath his fingers. He wanted it to stay that way. "I'd rather not have her teeth in me, thanks."

She twitched suddenly, uncomfortable. Her glowing eyes were focused on the window and the darkness outside it. Her pensive reflection stared back at her. "I've never had the blood of a human in the short time that I have been a vampire." Her eyes narrowed grimly. "Satin will know I didn't mark you."

Trunks refrained from moving further away from her, though he wanted to. He eyed her askance, lavender brows drawn down. "You'd better not."

The look she sent him was scornful. "I'm not!" she said disdainfully, slouching lower in the chair. "I'd happily go skipping into direct sunlight first."

Though relieved, Trunks could not help but be curious. "Then how exactly do you feed?" Part of him, the part of him that was the Hunter, didn't want to know, and couldn't believe that he was having a conversation with a blood-sucker. The rest of him was the same curious, often careless, Trunks. It was something he had always wanted to know, since he had never come across a kill of Dominique's or had ever seen her hunt at all.

Dominique frowned. It was not a topic she enjoyed discussing. "I don't drink the blood of animals, if that's what you're thinking. I don't feed at all." To his skeptical look, she added, "A sorceress I know sustains a spell I had wrought on me, to prevent me from having to feed."

He dipped his hands into his pockets. It sounded plausible, though he'd never heard of such a thing before. "Do I know this particular witch?"

She chuckled, startling him with her sudden good humor. "She prefers the term '_sorceress_', Mr. Briefs."

Trunks' eyes widened then narrowed. "You mean _Cara_?" he demanded.

Cara Atkins, resident teenage witch and occasional aid to both him and the vampire, had it in for him. He owed her, she believed, for saving his life. And what had he done when she'd gotten bitten by a vampire during a raid on a small nest? He pressed a searing silver crucifix to the wound. The blessed silver had burned away any possibility of a Change.

But never mind that Trunks had saved her from an eternity as a bloodsucker. Cara had never forgiven him for scarring her, but grudgingly assisted him from time to time. She had no other choice. Not only was Registered Executioner above her own title of Licensed Sorceress, but Cara's older sister Adelina was his mentor and friend.

Dominique smiled, flashing fang. She acted so human sometimes that it would have been easy to forget that she wasn't mortal. "The one and only Miss Atkins. She says 'burn in Hell', by the way."

He hadn't thought Cara was advanced enough in her magic to have mastered something so complex. Trunks couldn't help it. He grinned, but it soon faded. He was finding himself at ease with Dominique Kellis, almost relaxed, and that disturbed him. It was very dangerous bad habit he couldn't afford to begin. _She's a vampire_, he reminded himself. _One of the race that kills mortals for food.  
_

_But she doesn't feed,_ his conscience protested feebly.

_Minor detail,_ the Hunter in him countered. _A leech is still a leech, no matter if it starves._

Dominique snapped her fingers in front of his face, recalling his attention. He blinked and focused on her again, annoyed by the fact he'd allow his attention to wander with her in his presence _again_. "What are you thinking?" she asked him quietly.

His defenses were back up, strengthened by his frustrations. "Can't you just read my mind and find out?" he said sharply. "That's what you usually do, isn't it? There's no such thing as a right to privacy in my own mind, right?"

She looked almost hurt before she schooled her expression back into polite indifference. "Would you rather I use my powers on you than ask you? I'm trying to do the right thing."

Trunks snorted angrily, tossing his head. Unfortunately, he was furious with himself, but found himself directing his rage at her. It was easier that way, to spin the helpless anger onto someone else. "Nothing you ever do will be right, Kellis." He got to his feet in a surge of impatience. "You're a damned creature of the night."

She was in front of him in a blink of an eye. Trunks hadn't sensed her movement, hadn't counted on her making a move. _Damn_ her preternatural powers. Dominique gathered the front of his shirt in her hands and yanked him towards her, teeth bared with a sudden fury. He still towered over her, but that didn't seem to matter to her.

"There are two things you ought to know, Hunter, before you start making assumptions like that." Her voice was frosty, hard and brittle as ice. "Number one would be that I didn't _ask_ to be like this. I was taken and forced to become what I am now. I was a child, and the decision was not mine to make. And number two, what about _you_? You keep the hours of the undead, sleeping during the day. Neither of us drink blood, both of us have unique powers, so what's separating us? Please, wise one, _enlighten_ me on just what makes you so fucking different from me."

Trunks glared at her, caught her hands in his, and held them away from him. He kept her wrists trapped in his hold, held them together over her head. "I still have a soul," he pointed out sharply.

There was a terrible hellfire of temper in those dark eyes, but her voice remained soft, chilly. "And I don't?" she demanded.

He bared his teeth at her. "No, you don't," he confirmed. "You're eternally damned."

"And so are you!" she shot back, the calm shattering like so much fragile glass. She tugged at her hands trapped in his, incensed. "You don't see that it's the same, you're too goddamn blind, holding on to whatever's left of your ignorance so that you don't have to face it. Fucking coward." She spit the insult at him, narrowing eyes that flickered between green and glowing blue. "_Fucking coward. _You're forever damned to lose those you care about, damned because you have to save a race that shuns you for being different! You believe in a soul because it gives you false hope that you're any less of a murderer than any vampire out there in the world, that you do it all for a just fucking cause and that makes it okay. They're still dead and you still killed them, soul or no goddamn soul! And you're damned like the rest of these miserable creatures on this godforsaken planet because you'll always be alone!"

Trunks stared at her intensely. He was struck with the realization that she was right. The thoughts that had haunted him for years had finally been voice aloud. As a little boy, he'd thought himself cursed. Why else would such horrible things happen to him? Why had it been up to him to defend the human race? Why did he have to find those he'd just been moments too late to save, to have the strength to protect and to still fail? _Why_ _him?  
_

Dominique slumped slightly. She lowered her head, turned her eyes away from his. "You know it's true," she whispered. Her fingers curled around his almost comfortingly. "We've both been royally screwed by the forces that be. We always lose those closest to us. It's all our lives will ever be."

It hurt. It hurt Trunks to know that she was right. That the one who understood him so well was someone he was supposed to destroy. Kellis knew how he felt without prying through his mind. She knew because she'd been there. Satin had slain his mother only four years ago and it was a never-ending grate on his mind that she still walked around free and unharmed. But it occurred to him now that Kellis had had to live with her pain for longer than he had. Centuries... Hundreds of years knowing that your family's murderer, your tormentor, the one who controlled you was still alive...

"Trunks."

She rarely, if ever, used his given name, and because of this, it never failed to snag his attention. He looked down at her and was startled to see her eyes shimmering with tears. The glow had faded, leaving her with a lost expression on her face. "Yes?"

"Please..." There was desperation in her voice. "I can't... I can't do this anymore. Please. Just end it."

"What?" Trunks stared at her, floored by the plea. The serious, sometimes cocky Kellis he knew was gone. He didn't know how to handle this soft, vulnerable new one in her place.

"_Please_. I can't... What sort of life is this really, anyway?" She still wouldn't look at him. "I don't want to be stuck with Satin for eternity. You can't even imagine what it's like, every week, months, years, _centuries_. And, really, it would benefit you. She'd lose more than half of her powers with my death; you'd be able to avenge your mother! I've been thinking about it for a long time now, and you'd be doing the whole world a favor. "

He had been prepared to deliver her death the moment she'd accosted him from outside his bedroom window. Hadn't he been thinking how good it would feel to run her through with his sword, to just end it and be done with her? Then why was he suddenly so horrified by the mere thought of it?

_Because she's kept her humanity,_ his conscience mumbled. _You never took the time to realize she's almost human._

"I...can't," he decided quietly.

Dominique's shoulders sank with hopelessness and her tears welled and overflowed. She tore her hands from his and shoved against his chest, forcing him a step backwards. "_Why_?" she berated him.

As if she were a little girl, Trunks spun her around and pressed her back against his chest, crossing her arms across her chest to still her struggles. Her feet kicked furiously and she screamed curses at him that no proper lady should've known. And when the wrath was gone, she dropped her head and cried, great racking sobs that chipped away at his defenses steadily. He'd never been able to turn his back on someone in pain, no matter what species they were. Once more, he cursed his noble nature.

"I _hate_ her," she wept, shuddering with sobs. "She took my life from me! I c-can't bear to stay with her, but she holds my existence in her hands. My life is her plaything, just as it's always been. _Please_...save me from that."

But Trunks found himself unable to kill her. If it had been Chryssatin, the bitch would've had a stake through her heart in seconds. But Dominique... Whether he wanted it to or not, seeing her past had changed his perspective of her. Vampirism had not robbed her of her humanity, her emotions. She didn't seek to hunt and kill and destroy. She just wanted to live in what peace could be provided, just like any of the other humans walking the earth today. Trunks could never kill a human.

"No," he told her firmly. "I won't kill you so you can escape." With a low sigh, he carefully lowered his head until his chin rested atop her head. "We'll take out Chryssatin. Together." When she became limp weight, he gingerly released her hands, allowing her to drop her self-restraints as he took back.

Slowly, Dominique moved away, tilting her head up to look at him. The moonlight made the tears streaked down her face glimmer silver. "Why won't you do this for me?" she asked hoarsely. "If I go up against Satin, she won't kill me. She would never kill me; she loves her own life too fucking much for that. She'll torture me for eons on end, unspeakable things. I know that you hate me, but..." Her expression was already pained, as if recalling something she had already been subjected to. "Would you really put me through that?"

"Did I say I was going to leave you to fend for yourself?" he inquired with mild impatience. "We can't do anything about her right now, but we will, soon. I'll come up with a plan, come up with...something." Awkwardly, he patted her shoulders, unsure what to do for her now. "For now, you have to be strong."

Dominique nodded and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Why are you helping me?" she whispered.

Trunks felt suddenly uneasy. Women asked the toughest questions. He waited a while before answering, debating on how much to tell her. "Because you're right... We're not that different. I never took the time to notice that you weren't like Chryssatin."

"I understand." She took a deep breath, calmed herself. She kept her eyes on the floor for a moment, ashamed of her loss of control over herself. "I also understand how hard it is for you to trust me...to decide to help me. I know that it goes against everything you fight for, believe in. But...I'll make you a promise." Dominique raised her hand to touch his cheek. Calmly, his hand came up to trap her fingers before they made contact. She gave him a rueful half-smile. "I'll help you avenge your mother, Trunks, if you'll help me avenge mine."

"I will." Why did he suddenly feel so odd? He felt...calm. Calm in the presence of a vampire. It should have been unnerving. He wondered idly if he'd finally fallen prey to the entrancing power of a vampire's gaze; it would explain a lot of his behavior tonight, that was for damn sure.

Dominique glanced out the window at the position of the moon. "I have to go," she said at last, turning back to him. "Cara's waiting for me. We're strengthening the spell tonight."

"Alright." Trunks nodded and stepped away from her. She moved to the window on the far end of the room and he watched her silently slide the glass up, swing one leg over the sill. "Kellis."

She stopped mid-motion, looking over her shoulder at the summons. Standing there in the middle of the room awkwardly, the Hunter looked like a little lost boy, torn between duty and compassion, and her heart went out to him. Helping her—hell, simply trusting her—was not something he would do lightly. "Yeah?"

Trunks averted his eyes, unwilling to look at her. "Be careful."

Dominique smiled weakly at him. He was such a child. "I will. Same to you, Mr. Briefs." And then she leapt, melting in with the darkness she'd been forced to live in.

Trunks watched her leave and sighing, went back to his room. His head ached fiercely with tension and the stress of the evening. He rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead, closing his eyes as he walked down the hall, processing the night's events. Had he just done what he thought he did? He'd willingly formed an alliance with a vampire...

Safe to say, the Hunter in him was pissed as hell.

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**FND: **I've got to tell you, morally-confused Trunks is a very interesting write! Suggestions? Comments? Questions? I'd love to hear any and all of 'em, guys, and I'll do my best to actually reply! Review, please!


	4. Talks, Torture, and Tragedy

**FND: **I've been asked, by more than a few people, to make a list of all the ranks inside of the SIF. If enough people are curious or confused, I'll post a link to the SIF ranks.**  
**

**Notable Mentions: **Despite changes in a few characters' ages, Belle Atkins is still 3 years old and Cara Atkins is 19.**  
**

Enjoy, my pretties, and don't forget to review.**  
**

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Chapter 4  
_Talks, Torture, and Tragedy_

* * *

"You look like shit."

Trunks stared at the woman across the table with bleary eyes and made a face at her. The two of them were seated in a booth in a small family restaurant. It was a little after nine in the morning, and he'd been working purely on adrenaline. He'd been busy the last few days, working with the police department on several missing persons cases that gave him very little rest. Morning was not his favorite time of the day, but he made sure he didn't miss a meeting with her. "Thanks for the compliment. I'd like to see you work without any sleep."

Adelina Atkins sighed and shook her head at him, smiling warmly. "I survived a full-time job on graveyard shift with a newborn. I'm the _queen_ of no sleep, Briefs." Had it really been four years ago that this man in front of her had been a trembling, remorseful rookie afraid to slay what looked like another human being? Nah. It couldn't be. "You're insane, just so you know," she chuckled.

He sipped his coffee that was getting cold, and mentally cursed whoever had made it. It was sickeningly bitter, no matter how much sugar and cream he put into it. "Yes, you continue to inform me of that, Lina. Thank you for the update."

"And yet you never listen." Lina gray eyes scanned his face appraisingly, searching for any sign of change. "So did you let her do it?" she whispered.

He raised his brows and glowered at the murky contents of his cup. Was something floating in it? Disgusting. "Did I let who do what?" he asked wearily.

She feigned a frown. "Dominique. Did you let her mark you? I admit, I'm curious."

Trunks snorted and set his half-empty cup aside, glancing at the waitress that came to take it away. He spoke when she was out of hearing distance. "Do I look like I'm blood-bonded to a leech to you?" he demanded scornfully. "You ought to know better than that."

Lina laughed and sat back against the cool vinyl of the booth. For a second she had wondered, concerned that Trunks had finally allowed himself to fall prey to the allure of the vampire. She knew that there was no worry of that where Dominique was concerned; but Satin Sin was a whole other ballgame. She had been anxious when she'd found out from Dominique that the older vampire had shown up unexpectedly. "Know what I've noticed, Briefs? You're a regular asshole during the day."

"Really? And it only took you this long to realize it." He raked his fingers through his hair irritably. "Were you expecting Prince Charming? Sorry to disappoint you."

She smiled at him and wagged her finger in his face. "Don't tempt me to put a silencing spell on that smart little mouth of yours, Your Highness."

Trunks stuck out his tongue and buried his face in his folded arms, shifting in an attempt to make himself comfortable on the hard table surface. "Shut up," he mumbled.

She added two spoonfuls of sugar to her iced tea, listening to the ice cubes clink against each other as she put her thoughts in order. She took a drink from the glass and set it back down. Propping her chin on her fist, she locked eyes with him. "After I tucked in Belle, I noticed that Cara and Dominique were still strengthening the spell. Both of them worked hard and late the other night."

He was trying to remind himself just why it was he dragged himself out of bed three times every week to endure this madness. Then he remembered the one time he'd decided to sleep late instead of showing; he'd woken up abruptly after hitting the floor with a jarring thud. Lina had been crouched over him, fistfuls of his hair in her hands and a cheerfully sadistic smile on her face as she crooned the vicious, inventive things she'd do to his anatomy if he ever stood her up again without a damned good reason. Trunks had shown up to every single meeting ever since, no matter how early it was scheduled.

Someone behind them was trying to quiet a furious toddler squalling at the top of its lungs. "And why is it any of my concern how late they work?" he wanted to know around a yawn.

Lina smiled smugly. Trunks and her baby sister Cara were not on the best of terms, mostly due to her younger sister's refusal to admit her own shortcomings. "Just thought you'd want to know... Cara started wearing silver again," she told him.

Trunks nodded wearily, trying to convey the vague sense of satisfaction he felt at this news. Sleep, he wanted sleep. Forget food—he was practically dead on his feet. If Lina left him alone long enough, he'd sleep right here in this loud, crowded diner.

But the news of Cara's accomplishment was comforting. For her to wear silver again was a big step. She'd been wary at first, uncertain if any vampiric influence remained in her blood, terrified of being scalded. All silver these days was blessed and it had been a risk. Apparently from her temper and ever-fluctuating moods, Cara was as much of a witch as ever and not one of the undead.

"So does she still put her little hexes on me every now and then?" he wondered. It was an honest question; he'd glanced into the mirror one morning to find his hair sticking straight up in lime green spikes. It'd taken him a phone call and an hour's scolding from Lina to convince Cara to turn it back its original color. It had been a while since he'd noticed anything off, but it never hurt to check.

Lina shrugged with a soft chuckle. "Rarely. Not since the whole making-your-white-shirts-pink incident." She sobered thoughtfully. "Dominique snapped at her about it the last few times she caught Cara trying hex you." She tilted her head, folded her hands together. "You know. I've been thinking about something lately, Trunks. It might not just be Chryssatin who is fond of you. I think Dominique might have thrown her lot in there with you, too."

The finger restlessly tracing the rim of the water glass jerked suddenly, and his glass tipped over, sending ice water cascading across the table. "Sorry," he said quietly, tossing a few napkins over the spill. _Curse Adelina's ability to surprise me._

"I'm sorry." Lina observed him coolly, smiling slightly. He looked so damned uncomfortable. "Did I startle you, Briefs?"

"No." He leaned back as an irritated waiter came and cleaned up the mess, sending Trunks a glare, which the Saiyan returned with zealous. "Where the _hell_ did that come from, Adelina?" he hissed once the waiter was gone.

Her face displayed feigned innocence as she shrugged her shoulders almost helplessly. But Trunks knew she was anything but innocent or helpless. You didn't grow in SIF ranks like she did being helpless. "Hey, don't blame me; I'm just making an observation. It's what I get paid to do. Besides, Trunks, Dominique's my best friend. I know her well, remember? She's been acquainted off and on with my family for generations. She tries to hide it, but she gets all soft sometimes when you're mentioned. It's almost like she might even—"

Trunks rose to his feet too quickly, bumping into and lurching the table forward. Lina arched a blonde brow and frowned as her iced tea swayed unsteadily. "I'm sorry, this conversation is over, Lina. I really have to go. Give Cara and little Belle my regards." He didn't want to hear anymore of this. "I'll see you in two days."

"Mmhmm." Lina tilted her head and tapped her cheek. Still as awkward as ever, he bent down and touched his lips faintly to her cheek before moving for the door. Lina watched him go and shook her head at his pitiful social skills. Tell the Hunter that a vampire could possibly have some sort of feelings for him and he _freaks_. Poor guy needed to get out more. He didn't know how to handle emotional attachments to people. She was pretty certain that with the exception of her family and herself, he'd never really had a healthy relationship with another person before. Well. She was working on it, wasn't she? She sipped her tea pensively. The complexities of magic and the supernatural had _nothing_ on the tangled web of human emotions.

* * *

There was a slow, catty smile on Satin Sin's angelic face when she awoke to the waning screams of her Sister. She made a low, pleased sound in her throat as she stretched off the last dregs of sleep and slipped from her bed, her feet gliding across the stone floor. It was night again, glorious, comforting night. As usual, her premises were silent and still. _Oh. Well. _Nearly _silent, _she amended as Dominique's cries echoed from the other side of her door.

She'd been in there for nearly five days now. Satin slipped a robe around her bare white shoulders, belted it loosely around her waist. She took a moment to smile and savor the sensation of silk against her pale skin. It was a feeling she never grew bored with.

She crossed the room silently, her steps graceful and light as she made her way to the great heavy door that would lead to the chamber in the next room. Several times over the years, Satin had considered having rugs laid out over the chilly stone floors, but decades of spilling blood throughout her modest keeps had changed her mind. It would be far too much trouble to have the carpets cleaned and replaced as frequently as she would have ruined them.

With little to no effort, she leaned on the heavy carved wooden door and swept elegantly inside the inner room. In the center of the room a gleaming coffin rested atop a long, sleek table, bathed in orange flickers of candlelight. The silver crosses at all four corners were a sharp contrast to the dark wood. The interior was also lined with blessed silver and had been installed for her by a lust-stricken mortal several decades ago. She'd thought the irony amusing. He'd thought the request eccentric and fanciful, right until Satin drained him. Satin listened to the sluggish pounding from the inside and was again reminded that the coffin had been a good investment.

Dominique tried to cry out again, but it was a weak, exhausted sound. She continued to bang against the lid of her coffin, though her fists were raw and bloody. The silver of its walls burned and pricked at her flesh and she kicked her feet against its mighty strength. One of the four silver crosses was imbedded deeply into Dominique's shoulder, keeping her pinned inside the coffin. The Vampire wept with the pain of it. It was not the first time she'd been imprisoned in the silver-coated sarcophagus and though she continued to pray to whatever god would listen, she knew it would not be the last.

_That will teach her not to conspire against me_, Satin decided with a nod as she watched blood leak from the coffin. After a moment of watching the steady drops of blood adding to the puddle below, she turned with a flounce and sat in an armchair against the wall, propping her cheek against her fist. _You would think she'd have learned this lesson _ages_ ago, _she mused absently.

When Dominique had returned the other night, Satin had immediately cornered her. With the element of surprise on her side, it had been all too easy to rip a hole in Dominique's mental defenses and find the other side of the conversation Satin had not been privy to. Though it was true that Dominique's shields had grown powerful in the years she'd been under Satin's watchful eye, there was always a way for her to pry inside. Just one of the many advantages to being a Sire.

Some days she was glad that she had followed through on her whim to create a Sister for herself. Other days, Satin wondered irritably why she hadn't just ripped Dominique's throat out along with rest of her family and spared herself the frustration.

Blood was still pooling beneath the polished wood. It was more than Satin had expected, honestly; all that thrashing around Dominique had done earlier had made quite a mess. She must've been desperate to escape. A few more hours, Satin calculated, and perhaps she would let Dominique out. _She'll have to feed,_ the older vampiress acknowledged with a sense of pleasure. _She is losing too much blood for that witch's spell to work much longer. About time... _She knew just the place she would take Dominique to hunt.

Satin sighed and relaxed back in the soft padding of the chair, cupping her elbows in her palms as she allowed her mind to wander. She had time to sit and daydream. Dominique wasn't going anywhere. It hadn't been the first time her Sister had tried to mislead her, and Satin had to concede that it probably wouldn't be the last. Dominique could be sneaky, when she put her mind to it. The Hunter's agreement to their farce, however, now _that _was an interesting development. "And she still did not mark him," she murmured with a disappointed click of her tongue. Pretend or not, that had been a prime moment to savor the taste of him, at the very least. "What a waste of a rare opportunity."

Satin was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice the coffin lid starting to lift until the metal scraped angrily against wood. "Hmm?" Satin's brow furrowed in a rare scowl as the lid rattled loudly. "She's getting stronger," she acquiesced darkly, her golden eyes slipping into cobalt with the beginnings of her rage. It should've taken her Sister another century before she'd acquired enough power to free herself from that sort of trap. Satin was not pleased that Dominique was ahead of the schedule she had planned out for her fledgling.

"O-Out..." Dominique rasped.

Satin rose lithely from her seat, long pale legs stretching as she moved. Dominique's hand slid out to grip the side of the coffin. There was a wet, shredding sound as she jerked upright, the silver cross ripping through her shoulder and finally tearing free. The motion had the coffin tumbling and the silver bearing down painfully upon Dominique's body. She whimpered, writhing and struggling as her muscles went into spasm. There was no more breath left in her for a scream.

Satin stood in the midst of the mayhem, glaring down at her fledgling. She placed the pad of her bare foot on the side of the coffin and shoved it off, casting the broken casket aside. Cold eyes stared down intently. "I have not bade you rise," she said slowly. Though her voice was quiet, the threat was there.

Dominique was bowed over in pain, panting as blood continued to spill. Her complexion was paler than usual, sickly gray, and her green eyes were clouded with weakness. But even in her blood loss-induced delirium, she glowered hatefully at Satin. "Y-You _bitch_... You did this—did this to me," she slurred.

"Indeed I did," Satin said and after a long moment, she smiled gently, her fangs flashing. Her eyes gleamed back into cold amber. She could use this, this weakness and this pain. "You thirst, don't you? You need blood."

Dominique slumped forward and barely managed to catch herself before she fell. Her eyesight blurred, fading in and out of focus. Blood. She'd never wanted to feed so badly before, had only hungered for blood _once_ in her unnaturally long life, and that had been nothing compared to this wretched pain. She heard the rhythmic beating of her Sister's heart and tears of want, of _hunger_, burned in her eyes. The sound was vibrant, taunting her and her hunger. A whimper, low and desperate, rose from her throat as she reached out a shaking hand for her Sister.

Satin's grin spread, contorting her face into that of some dark, wicked angel. She knew bloodlust when she saw it and couldn't have been more pleased. She leaned down a hand to Dominique, her touch gentle. "My poor, wounded little Sister," she whispered comfortingly. "Poor thing... Come. Come and hunt the night with me. Let me take away that terrible, terrible pain. You'll be thanking me by the end of the night, I assure you. The pain will stop," she soothed warmly. "Wouldn't you like the pain to stop, little one?"

Feverish with the loss of blood and blinded by the pain of hunger, Dominique nodded and grasped her Sister's hand with a low whimper of desperation.

* * *

_Note to self_, Trunks told himself, _next time we go to bed,_ _we unplug the damned phone._ He waited a few more seconds, praying that the ear-splitting ringing would fade away. When it didn't, he groaned and sighed, rolling over to stop the shrill screaming of the telephone. Trunks fumbled with the receiver for a moment before holding it securely to his ear. "Briefs," he grunted sleepily.

"Mr. Briefs, it's Kennedy."

Trunks glared at the darkness and ran a hand over his sleepy features, struggling to orient himself. Jack Kennedy, supernatural homicide lieutenant and resident nuisance. Kennedy had a bad habit of interrupting the Hunter's much-needed sleep and occasionally received the brunt end of Trunks' frustration. Now was one of these times. He cast a bleary look at the digital alarm clock on his nightstand. The green glowing numbers read 6:53 AM. "Jack." His voice, husky with sleep, still brimmed with irritated authority. "We've had a talk about this... What have I told you about calling me at home?"

"It's serious this time, Mr. Briefs."

"Isn't it always?" he grumbled, blinking. If he didn't pay attention, he was going to miss something important. He had to admit, Kennedy usually had a reason for bothering him at these _unholy _hours.

"...another Code 187, fresh, maybe only hours old."

_Damn. _His mind clicked into Executioner's mindset sharply. Trunks forced himself up onto his elbows, blinked to clear his eyes. "What is it? What've you got?"

"We've got three DBs." Jack Kennedy's usually resilient voice sounded tense, strained.

A crime scene with three dead bodies... Trunks sat up carefully and threw his legs over the side of the bed, propping his elbows on his knees. He ground his teeth together to force back a sigh. Multiple killings were never pretty and the fact that he was being called in meant it had to be particularly messy. He'd only been asleep a few hours and he didn't want to imagine facing a crime scene like that. "Do I have to come in?" he wanted to know.

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Briefs. You're our vampire expert."

Trunks nearly dropped the receiver. "_Chryssatin_ is behind this?" he hissed angrily into the phone. He bitterly conceded that he shouldn't be surprised; she had been well-behaved for almost a week now, and that was just not her style. It had only been a matter of time before she reappeared on the streets to play her games.

It was quiet for a minute. "Yes, Mr. Briefs. I wanted to keep you out of this, but I'm afraid my superiors wouldn't let me. You're always our best bet when it comes to vampires."

"What?" Unease iced Trunks' veins and he swallowed hard, noticing for the first time the layer of hesitation in Kennedy's voice. He felt a shiver slither slowly down his spine, a prickling sense of dread. "Spit it out, Jack. What happened?"

Kennedy gulped audibly, let out a short breath. "Well...when the victims are..._acquainted_ with one of our team, we try to spare them the pain of... identifying."

Trunks heard the receiver crack beneath his white-knuckled grip and was only vaguely aware of a scream trying to claw its way up his throat. "The Atkins family," he breathed, shutting his eyes against the hot, welling tears. He didn't know anyone else. There was no one else he was so close to...

"I'm sorry, Mr. Briefs." There was sincere, heartfelt pity and sympathy in the lieutenant's voice now. "Cara Atkins, Adelina Atkins, and Adelina's daughter, Belle were...f-found in their home, less than an hour ago."

_Belle. Little Belle, so young, only three...murdered. Stubborn Cara. Lina, oh, Lina, no, no!_ He had seen her only the morning before, had sat across from Lina's smiling face. He'd kissed her cheek goodbye, told her he'd see her in a couple days. Trunks wanted to cry, wanted to scream and curse the existence of the undead to the wretched lower pits of hell, but his throat had sealed itself shut.

Dimly, he noticed that Kennedy was still talking at him. "Not now, Jack." Trunks' voice wavered and he fought to control it. _Don't you dare break down_, he commanded himself. _You have to be strong. Weakness is unacceptable._ "I'm trying to digest all of this. No more."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Briefs, but I have to inform you that we need you to assist a team in tracking down the killers. They don't have much experience in tracking, and—"

"_Killers_?" Trunks interrupted. His eyes widened and his hand clenched into a fist gripping the sheets. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. He felt sick, because in that moment, he knew. He _knew_. "Kellis," he breathed.

Kennedy continued. "Just so you know, Kellis didn't kill the little girl. Or we don't think so." His voice was like that of an illiterate person attempting to scan the encyclopedia. "We're not too sure one way or the other. That's why we need you."

Trunks stopped listening. Kellis had taken human lives, stolen them in the night with Chryssatin. And not just anyone, not just random people from the streets, but his friends, his friends and a sweet little girl. Belle's life was over before it truly started. Despite how she'd made him feel, despite the whispered promises of vengeance less than a week ago, Dominique Kellis had contributed to murder—the murder of her own dear friends, no less. She'd been even closer to them than he had, known them longer, and she still had... had...

"I'm sorry you have to come down, Mr. Briefs. If I had anyone else that I could call to the scene, I would. The brass and I have been going back and forth, and they want you there. I'm sorry, I tried my best, but...I need you here."

"I'll be there in half an hour." His tone was steady, cold and hard as stone. "Don't let anyone touch the bodies. Don't want them compromising the scene."

Kennedy's deep voice lowered, trying somehow to be gentle. "I really am sorry, Trunks... I know how close you were to the Atkins sisters. It's not much of a consolation, but this time the vampires have gone too far. They were an important family and necessities to the city; they were part of the government's licensed sorcery organization. There's no doubt you'll get an executioner's warrant for them. You can finally wipe them out once and for all."

Trunks stared blankly at the floor. Kennedy's voice was like so much static in his ears. "Don't let your men touch anything," he repeated dully. "I'll do this myself. It's my scene, my case. They don't so much as breathe on my evidence without my say-so."

"Yes, sir. But, Mr. Briefs—"

Trunks slammed the receiver down on the cradle, ignoring the onslaught of sparks that flew from the damaged phone. Chryssatin and Dominique had to pay for what they had done. Trunks held back his tears and rose from his bed. There was no time to hunch over the pain of this new betrayal, to acknowledge the horrible gaping wound of grief. He unsheathed his sword and glared at the clean blade in the dark. It wouldn't be long before the spotless silver was dripping crimson.

* * *

**FND: **One of the hardest things I ever did in this story was the end of the Atkins family. Now at first, I wasn't too bothered because they only existed in one or two chapters. But then the story grew and their lives and pasts and whatnot became real-I did a lot of background building after the original chapter 3 for later chapters. And now? Now I miiiiiiiiiss them. :( -sighs-

Let me know your thoughts, guys. Even your thoughts/philosophies on characters! Click the little button, guys, please.


	5. Betrayal and Bargains

**FND:** And continuing with the roll of chapters tonight, here comes number 5!

**JUNE 2010  
**

**Notable Changes:**

Artemis and Apollo have changed physical features. Anyone who can point them out wins a prize!

Not much else to say, except I'm sleepy. **  
**

**

* * *

**

Chapter 5

_Betrayal and Bargains _

* * *

Trunks stared stonily at the forensic photographer that was taking picture after picture. The continuous clicking of the shutter made him want to grind his teeth. He wondered if his eye twitched in time with the sound. "Move," he ordered finally.

Lowering his head, the photographer slinked away, adjusting his various lenses with an annoyed frown. He worked rarely with Trunks; there was a reason for that. Almost everyone tiptoed around the young man, uneasy with him and his strangeness. David understood him as little as he did the vampires. "No need to be rude, Mr. Briefs."

"David," Kennedy called gruffly to the photographer from across the room, "shut up."

"Yes, sir." Why wasn't he surprised? The lieutenant always butted in when it came to their young, odd consultant. It was no skin off his nose. David nodded and moved to take pictures on the other side of the house.

Kennedy glanced at Trunks worriedly. He was pale and had said barely a word since he'd arrived and surveyed the ruined contents of the Atkins' household. Kennedy couldn't imagine how hard it was for him, and made a mental note to have a counselor talk with Trunks about it. He watched the young man examine the bodies of what had been his friends. "Find anything conclusive?" he questioned softly.

Trunks rose, only dimly aware of the cold blood that had seeped through the knees of his jeans. "Yeah." He gestured absently to the nearly nonexistent throat of Belle. The little girl stared up at them with dimmed, frightened eyes, her tiny nightgown bloodied and ruined. "Her throat is completely torn out, shredded; it's not the way Chryssatin hunts, usually. If she feels like it, she's neat and her kills are clean. But it's hard to tell for sure who did what to Belle. There's too much damage to try and measure imprints of fangs. It was done carelessly, no restraint."

_ But it was quick, _his mind prayed feebly. _God, it was quick. Poor little thing. Never stood a chance. But it was quick, wasn't it?_

Staring down into her eyes, Trunks could hear Belle screaming in his head, the high thin wail of a frightened child. _Stop_, he pleaded, closing his eyes for a moment. _Just stop._

After he'd composed himself, he turned and motioned to Cara, crouched down beside the fallen teenager. Her arms were bound behind her back; a glance at her wrists and forearms proved she had struggled. The skin was rubbed raw and bloody. Cara had fought viciously; he wasn't surprised. It was just like her. Trunks hovered a gloved finger over the jagged punctures on her throat. "But here, you can see there are two different imprints of teeth. Joint effort, maybe."

Kennedy shook his head grimly, glancing at the overturned chairs, the trail of blood that dotted the floor. The smears would leave the room, drag down the hall, into another bedroom where Adelina Atkins lay sprawled in yet another puddle of blood. He stepped away from Trunks for a moment, paced the length of the room quietly. He'd only met the Atkins family once or twice, but he'd liked them. They hadn't deserved this. _No one_ deserved this.

Kennedy stopped when he came to the ugly puddles in the middle of the carpet. He tapped the top of his pencil against his chin. "But what about these?" he questioned. "Is this blood spatter from the feedings? I don't think it would be, too far from the bodies, but..."

Trunks stood over the aforementioned pools of blood and studied them. "See how dark it is?" Kennedy nodded. "Looks congealed, but if you touch it, you'll notice..." The younger man swept a gloved finger through the mess, held it up for Kennedy to see. "It's still wet, feels almost fresh. This is vampire blood."

Surprise flicked in Kennedy's dark eyes. "Think they put up a fight?" he inquired, tapping his pencil against his dog-eared notepad now. "Might explain why the younger sister was tied up. She could've given them too much trouble."

"No," Trunks replied slowly. Cara had been restrained to _prevent _her from moving against them. "There's too much blood for that. The Atkins were a powerful family, but they were still human. No humans could cause the sort of damage this much vampire blood would mean."

The lieutenant rolled possibilities around in his head silently for a few moments. He spoke softly, glancing askance at the young Hunter. "Dissent in the ranks, maybe?"

Trunks had already come to that conclusion. The two vampires had fought not just the Atkins family, but each other that night. Over what? First taste? Heat knotted his stomach as he looked away from the dark blood. Belle was still screaming in his head. _Please, stop. _"Looks like it."

The few officers surrounding the basement began to yell. "Lieutenant! Lieutenant, we've found something!"

The statement was punctuated suddenly by a piercing scream.

"It's got David!"

Shots were fired, bullets carving into wood. Trunks and Kennedy brought out their respective weapons and hurried to where the commotion was coming from. "Hold your fire!" Kennedy shouted. "God_damn _it, stop shooting up the house!"

When they rounded the corner, Trunks leading, David the photographer was sitting on the pale-green carpet, clutching his forearm. Blood slipped rapidly through his fingers. One of the other officers was already talking rapidly into his radio, calling for a bus. Another man had yanked off his jacket and was trying to wrap it around the wound. Trunks got a glimpse of torn flesh before it was covered. "...was a v-vampire," David choked, tears running down his pale face.

The door to the basement was wide open, pitch-black and foreboding. It hadn't been open when Trunks had arrived. The rest of Kennedy's men had their guns aimed at the entrance, ready and eager to fire again. They didn't want to take any chances with the vampire popping back out. "It's one of the Sisters," one tossed out to Kennedy.

"Why isn't she asleep?" Kennedy looked to Trunks in confusion, expecting an answer.

Trunks was staring frostily into the darkness. "You don't sleep too well when you're hungry, either," he mumbled. "Has to be blood loss."

Kennedy straightened warily. "Well, looks like we've got the loser to the vamp squabble down there then," he murmured, readjusting his grip on his gun.

Trunks glanced absently down at the injured photographer. "Take care of your man, Jack, before he bleeds to death."

Dimly, he nodded and knelt besides David. He touched a hand to the other man's shoulder comfortingly. "Hang on, Dave, we've got someone on the way."

Trunks stood at the top of the basement stairs, peering into the darkness. He took a step forward and froze when the hammers of several guns clicked behind him. He looked over his shoulder and fixed a glare on the men. The last thing he needed was to be covered by a bunch of overexcited trigger-happy cops. Bullets wouldn't kill him, but he was damned sure he wouldn't be happy to be hit by friendly fire. "Stand down," Trunks ordered.

Looking at one another, the police officers lowered their weapons. With anyone else, they'd look to their lieutenant for clarification. Arms weren't laid down lightly. But they knew better than to get in Trunks' way at a crime scene. It just resulted in getting their asses kicked or screamed at. Neither was pleasant when administered by a perturbed Mr. Briefs. Especially not after what he'd already been through. Besides, he knew the vampires best. If he said to stand down, they complied.

"Calm down, Dave, it's okay," Kennedy assured the weeping photographer. "You're gonna be alright."

_Jack doesn't know enough about vamps to know he's lying_, Trunks thought as he descended the dark stairs carefully. David was going to die, or become a vampire. The bite was too deep to repel with silver and he was losing too much blood. Holy water might have worked, but it would take too long to acquire a bottle. Trunks silently resigned himself to having to put David out of his misery when the time came. There was a faint shadow of movement to his right and he stilled, his fingers tightening on his blade.

"Get out here," he ordered firmly. "No point hiding. You already blew your cover when you attacked."

"Ah, Fate is a miserable joker indeed. Why else would it be you, dear Hunter, that should come upon me when I'm at less than my best?"

"I didn't expect _you_, Chryssatin," Trunks admitted coldly as his feet stepped down from the last stair. He stood motionlessly in the darkness. The fact that he could not see where she was didn't bother him. She'd expose herself soon enough; she never could resist.

"Oh? You thought it would be my Sister, did you?"

There was amusement in her voice, and that alone furthered the flare of his anger. His tone chilled, sharp, brittle ice. "Enough talk, Chryssatin. Tell me why you killed the Atkins family."

"Me?" There seemed to be actual surprise in the voice that echoed in the dark. But he had learned long ago not to trust anything about Chryssatin. "Poor boy, you are so misguided that I almost pity you. I merely fed from the child and put the subdued blonde out of her misery. It was our dear little Dominique that dealt killing blows, caused the most damage and pain. I've been outclassed, you see, dear Hunter. Outmatched. I introduced my fledgling to blood for the very first time, and she reacted to it more... _strongly_ than I had anticipated."

For a moment, he didn't understand what she was saying to him. "You _fed_ Kellis?"

Soft footfalls in the empty darkness. "Drained her, starved her, and released her, yes. But, of course, when the red haze of bloodlust faded—"

"She beat the fucking shit out of you," he finished darkly.

Satin was quiet for a heartbeat. When she spoke again, she sounded mildly insulted. "Though I would not put it so crudely, yes."

"That's _your_ blood upstairs." He continued to listen for her movements. "Kellis turned on you the minute she realized what you'd made her do."

He spotted her shadow on the floor creeping in front of him. She was moving much slower than usual; it was obvious that Dominique had injured her severely. The blood she had drained had obviously given Kellis much power.

"What I'd _made _her do?" she repeated. "I offered and she took. No one poured their blood down her throat." Satin sighed softly and left the shadows enough to be seen. By the blood patterns upstairs, Trunks had assumed that Kellis had done a number on her. He'd been right. Her dark hair was matted and sticky, wild. Her white blouse looked as if a dark red ink tag had detonated down the full length of her body. The front of her lacy top hung in stained shreds across her chest. Her own blood was splattered across her cheek. The eyes that met his in the dark were electric blue—and displeased. However amused she sounded, Satin was _not_ happy.

She curled her arms around her body, cocked one hip. "Of course, she loathes herself for finally giving in to her natural instincts. My Sister is soft that way. I have never understood her affection for these people, why she always tried to protect them. Ah, well, it didn't seem to matter last night. Protection was the _last _thing on her mind when she took down the child's mother. Amusing, isn't it? She destroyed what she fought so long to protect."

His blue eyes blazed with rage. "Real fucking hilarious."

"So glad you agree, Mr. Briefs." Satin offered him a faint smile. "My Sister will be feeding carelessly now. I don't plan to discourage her, though you're welcome to try, Hunter. I should warn you that she is creating new vampires. I know these things," she responded casually to his black, penetrating look. "I did Sire her, after all. But they are young and should not be a problem for _you_. Oh, but do be careful. I wouldn't want my favorite mortal marked by someone else. Well." She lifted one shoulder in a dainty half-shrug. "I suppose I don't have to worry about you; Dominique is less fond of _young _bloodthan I am."

Trunks thrust his blade forward and into the rib cage of the offending vampire. _Shut up. Shut up._ That's all he wanted to do, _shut_ her up! She didn't scream or cry out in pain, as he would have liked—_want her to scream, to hurt, to bleed_...

Instead, the vampire laughed hoarsely, blood bubbling in the back of her throat. The sound was distressingly sultry. "You have very nice aim, Mr. Briefs. But not nice enough, I fear." Her eyes twinkled at him. "I'm not dead yet."

"Yet," he agreed quietly and drew his sword out in a swift jerking motion. Satin sank to her knees, arms wrapped around her middle, laughing. Had blood not been pouring from the wound, one would think she had been told the funniest joke she'd ever heard.

Disgust was plain on his face. He had wanted to cause her pain, to hurt her, and was rewarded with her pleasure. It was frustratingly usual of the bitch. "Oh, I forgot," he spat. "You're a masochist, aren't you?"

Satin just stared up at him and laughed her gurgling bloody laugh.

Kennedy's voice echoed from up the stairs. "Mr. Briefs, are you all right down there?" he called warily. "They've taken David to the hospital. Mr. Briefs?"

Trunks glared down at her, flexing his fingers tightly on the hilt of his sword. He took a moment to talk himself out of stabbing at her again. It would only be an exercise in futility. "I'm fine, Jack." Chryssatin was going to be arrested for this; she had assaulted David, the forensic photographer. Attempted murder, as well as the charge for the Atkins family. If David ended up dead or Changed, the charge would shift to yet another count of murder next to her name.

His eyes fell to the dark pool on the floor, shifted to eye his dripping sword. A dead defendant was as helpful as none at all. "Get the blood bank on the phone. We need about four bags of synthetic O-negative. And toss me down a pair of silver handcuffs."

He heard Kennedy's heavy boots on the top stair. "Are you serious?" the lieutenant demanded incredulously. "You're going to _feed _her?"

Synthetic would keep her functioning without giving her any of her strength back. He knew what the hell he was doing and tersely reminded Kennedy of this.

"...alright," the older man relented at last. "_Sir_." His tone alerted Trunks that he was not happy at all with this decision. But Kennedy would do it anyway; he might grumble and complain, but he trusted Trunks' judgment in matters like this. He was certain that the blood would arrive as soon as possible and no more questions would be asked. There was a tinkling crash as the handcuffs Trunks had asked for were tossed down.

Satin had stopped laughing and was sitting on the floor quietly, a sleepy half-smile on her pretty face. "It should be interesting," she murmured, peering up at him. "Just what _will _you do now?"

Trunks didn't answer her as he opened the metal circles of the handcuffs. He was too busy trying to ignore the screaming in his head.

* * *

"P-Please, don't hurt me," he rasped, back against the cold brick wall. "I'll give you anything, anything you want! Money's no object, I mean it!" Long ago, Greg had stopped struggling and had deteriorated into begging with the trio that had cornered him. The only way out of Hell was to strike a deal with the Devil.

"Mother," the slender girl with expressive gray eyes whined, "can't we feed on him now?" Her long auburn hair waved in the wind of her Mother's power. "He's not going anywhere."

"Yeah, I'm hungry," her twin, a willowy boy, groaned crossly.

_Feed?_ His head went light with fear, his heart beating a mad tempo in his throat. The two teenagers flanked him on either side, leaning closer to take long, delighted sniffs of his scent. The boy saw Greg shrinking away from him and leered, running his tongue over sharply pointed teeth.

His knees threatened to buckle. Greg had heard the stories, but he'd refused to believe, refused to be afraid of myths. He'd feared the other humans that lurked the dark. Vampires _didn't _exist—or so he'd thought until three hunted him. "Don't hurt me," he whimpered to the one the twins called 'Mother'. She didn't move or even acknowledge him from her place in the shadows. "I have a wife and a little girl, please, they need me. My wife, she's sick and I've got to take care of the baby, _please_!" His eyes widened as the twins stepped towards him. Cold sweat trickled down his spine, breaking over his skin; he had no way out. They had already proven that he couldn't possibly outrun them. "P-Please, I'll give you any—"

"Oh, shut _up_," the one called Mother commanded.

He went quiet instantly, his breath shuddering. The teenage girl giggled—it was a disturbingly normal laugh. Greg couldn't swallow the small sound of fright that squirmed out when a pair of eyes flared to life, startlingly blue and glowing in the dark.

She probed the man's mind, her power slipping in and out the contours of his memories. Her anger rose and her fangs lengthened from normal teeth. She absolutely could not abide a liar. She motioned wearily to the twins. "Artemis. Apollo."

"Yes, Mother?" they chimed, peering at her expectantly. For all their devotion, she may as well have been their birth mother. She had saved them, had given them life away from the edge of death. She had their undying, unconditional love and adoration.

Nervously, he waited for what she would say. For what this 'Mother' decided would be his judgment. For now she was his God.

"He's a goddamn liar." There was no remorse in her voice as she condemned him. "He's taken more than his fair share of lives. There's no wife, no kid. He's full of it—and all yours."

His mouth opened to scream, but the sound was lost in a gurgle of hot blood as the twins pounced and fangs tore into his flesh. His life extinguished as quickly as a candle in a northern wind. Artemis and Apollo bent over him and began to feed eagerly. They needed no cajoling, no coaxing to do what had suddenly become natural for them.

The figure against the wall shivered with a biting, inner cold that no fire could warm. It had been three nights... Only three nights since her bloodstream had acquired the power of the Atkins family, and three nights since she had last taken blood. Dominique hugged herself tighter as the alleyway spun. She closed her eyes against the dizziness, the sick feeling in her stomach. She'd heard of those deprived who went insane or suffered horrible withdrawals. She was no different; Dominique knew she was starting to feel the beginnings of what would be a nasty withdrawal. Of course it would be bad; it was her first and only. She bitterly acknowledged that it was far less pain than she knew she deserved.

Her fledglings, only two days old, stopped their feasting to look up at her. Artemis, the younger, made a worried sound low in her throat. "Mother, you need to eat," she decided.

"You do." Apollo swiped blood from his mouth. His slate-colored eyes mirrored his sister's expression. "Please, Mother? You've gotten really pale. Are you sick or something?"

She opened her eyes and weakly waved at them, meaning to reassure. "I'm fine."

Once they were finished, the twins snuggled against her, their mouths newly cleaned and their flesh newly warmed. She could feel their concern as they wrapped their arms around her. "Don't worry so much," she told them softly, her hands gently stroking through their auburn hair. "I'm fine. Really."

"Promise?" they chorused, as most twins do.

Dominique wanted to grin at their innocence, but couldn't bring herself to smile. "I promise. Now go finish eating before it gets cold." As they returned to their abandoned carcass, her words sent shivers snaking down her own spine. She had spoken as nonchalantly as a human mother telling her little ones to finish their vegetables or no dessert. She never thought she'd see the day...

But the twins, her Children, were not bothered in the least as they obediently drained the blood of their rapidly cooling kill.

* * *

**FND: **-delicately cringes- This...chapter was slightly more painful to write, considering my love for the tragic Atkins was in full gear at this point. But it had to be done. Also! -waves at twins- Hiiiii guys! Enjoy your newly-written debut!

Questions? Theories? Complaints? Let's hear them, one and all!


	6. Meetings, Mausoleums, and Madness

**FND: **This is the chapter, without a doubt, that has undergone the most changes and reworking. And as such, I am insanely proud of it.

**JUNE 2010**

**Notable Changes: **New vampire mentioned is 4 years old instead of 2.

* * *

Chapter 6

_Meetings, Mausoleums, and Madness_

* * *

"No." In the cramped confines of the lieutenant's office, the ruckus of the bullpen only slightly muted by the closed door, Trunks leaned across Kennedy's desk, hands planted firmly on its surface. He was scowling fiercely as he decided, "It's out of the question, end of story."

Kennedy glared right back at him. They'd been at this for more than an hour now, neither one of them willing to sacrifice any ground in the argument. He'd never gone head-to-head with the younger man before. It was odd—and incredibly frustrating—to find someone with a harder head than his own. "Listen here, Mr. Briefs. I need you, please, for five minutes, to be reasonable here; I don't want to turn this over to someone else."

Trunks lifted one hand to stab Kennedy in the chest with his index finger. "There is no way in _hell_ I am going after some new vampire. I have enough problems with the ones already running around." He didn't care that a new one had been sighted, cared even less that it had requested an Executioner. It wasn't his problem anymore; he'd sent in his resignation to the SIF. "I don't know how many times I have to say it before you get it through your head. Enough's enough."

Kennedy pushed the hand away from his wrinkled shirt, bristling. "Do you think I _want _to send you? You're in no frame of mind to even be working right now, and you know it as well as I do." He tossed case files on the desk between them, waved an angry hand at them. "It's been a week since the Atkins family died. You've had eight appointments with the counselors and you haven't showed. Not to a _single_ one!"

A few detectives in the bullpen glanced up when Kennedy banged a massive fist on the table, listened to the raised voices. Their lieutenant didn't anger easily, but it seemed their young consultant was a master at provoking Kennedy's temper.

"Is this about your case or is this about me?" Trunks demanded tightly. _Only a week? No, no, it can't have been so little time since they were killed. _"If this is your way of bitching me out about the incident with Ortiz..."

That stirred Kennedy up further. "Oh, and you know damn well and good that you should've been ripped from anything _resembling_ active duty after that stunt!"

"If Ortiz hadn't stepped in between the suspect and myself, then he wouldn't have gotten hurt. I thought they taught common sense in basic training these days."

"Of all the—" Kennedy whistled out a breath through clenched teeth. "You seem to forget that from time to time, you're going to be dealing with humans. Ortiz was right to step between you; you were one shot away from killing that suspect. _Innocent_ until proven _guilty_," Kennedy reminded him angrily.

Blue eyes narrowed. _Maybe in your useless courts. _"I punched him _once_. He was running, and I apprehended him. No one else could've caught him; he was way too fast."

"One punch caved in his nose, fractured his skull, and broke his jaw. You _knew_ that and you were still going to take another swing at him. When Ortiz tried to stop you, you turned and socked him instead." Kennedy paced away from the desk in long, tense strides. "It's only the grace of God that you had poor aim from that vantage and instead of being a cop-killer, you just busted up his ribs."

The suspect had been wanted for the kidnapping and murder of a thirteen-year-old boy. Trunks had helped track the man down with sight and scent, the pale face of the teenager burned into his mind the entire time. His name had been Joshua. The man had reeked of Joshua's blood and sex. He was lucky Trunks hadn't stricken him down on sight with godlike wrath; no one would've been able to stop him, not if he'd really gone after the suspect. Didn't that already say something about his self-control? He hadn't killed anyone, had restrained himself and used only necessary force. Vaguely, it registered that the lieutenant was still lecturing him.

Kennedy counted off on his fingers, his dark brows knitted in a single line. "...won't come in for Testing, you won't see a counselor, you disobey direct orders on the few cases I've called you in on, but you won't stay on personal leave! If you want to work the cases, then you'll have to follow the orders from the brass, just like the rest of us. But you are the only licensed Registered Executioner in our ranks, personally sanctioned by the SIF. If I have to give this case to anyone, it has to be you—I just couldn't give it to a stranger. Just read the file, for God's sake, so you'll understand."

It was Kennedy who didn't understand. "Did you not hear me, Jack? I am _through_ with vampires," Trunks bit off. "If you want that new vamp caught, go get her yourself. I'm sure SIF will be more than happy to send someone in my place." It was a lie. SIF had refused to accept his resignation. But that hardly mattered to him. Accepted or not, he was done.

Kennedy watched him go through narrowed, frustrated eyes. His head was throbbing. The boy just didn't understand. "She's not new," he corrected bitterly. "She's four years old."

Trunks stopped in mid-stalk, all noise falling away except the thud of his own heart. "You..." _A four-year-old Unregistered... It couldn't be. _"What did you say, Jack?"

He scrubbed hands irritably over his face. He hadn't meant for it to come out this way, not in anger. It would already be hard enough to handle. "... she says you were there when she was created, asked for you, specifically." He closed his eyes against the tension headache nagging behind his eyes. With a heavy sigh, he regarded the younger man again. "I can't give this case to anyone but you, Mr. Briefs. It wouldn't be right."

Trunks' fists clenched until his knuckles were white. He turned slowly, approached the desk again. His voice when he spoke was hoarse, rough. "Did she give her name?"

Kennedy turned his eyes away when he pushed one of the case files across the desk again. This time, it was open, the photo featuring a slim woman that smiled hesitantly up at them.

Trunks looked down at the photo, and he found himself staring into the bright blue eyes he'd inherited.

* * *

"_Mother_!" There was a distinctly childish whine in the teenager's voice, and it was not the first time it had echoed in the dim side-alleyway tonight. "Apollo won't leave me alone. He keeps fucking bothering me!"

"Quit being such a baby and bitching to Mother over everything." Apollo put his palm on his sister's shoulder and shoved, nearly overbalancing her. Despite being fed and well-rested, the youth was cranky, restless. Like older brothers centuries before him, he took his boredom and ill mood out on his sister. "You gonna cry?"

With a low curse, Artemis bent low and tackled her brother around his middle, reaching up to scratch at his face when he was down. "I'm sick of your bullshit!"

"Oh yeah?" Adrenaline buzzed in his ears, escalated the sibling warfare as she tore little bloody welts into his cheek. With a well-placed shove, he broke her hold, crawling up onto his knees. He aimed a smart blow to her stomach, but she rolled, and it glanced off of her hip. She reciprocated with an elbow in his jaw, kicking her feet when he curled a hand around her ankle. "You're not fucking getting away that easy," he vowed, dragging her back down.

Dominique watched them silently from the closed dumpster she was perched upon. They fought like children half their age, rolling, yanking hair, and screaming insults between blows. Her voice was quietly weary when she spoke up. "_Artemis_. _Apollo_. Am I going to have to separate you? This is getting fucking ridiculous."

Apollo focused his attention up from where he was sprawled on top of his sister, her thick auburn hair clenched painfully in his fist. Artemis raised her gray eyes to stare at Dominique, her fangs pausing their gnawing on her brother's arm. "No, Mother," they said after a moment's hesitation. "We'll behave."

"You're both too old for this nonsense. Apollo, let go of her hair." She pointed a stern finger as she directed them apart. "And Artemis, your brother's arm is not your chew-toy."

"Children can be such a handful sometimes, can't they?" a voice called softly from above.

With a frightened gasp, the twins disentangled themselves from each other and scrambled up behind Dominique's dumpster as she raised her head to glare at whoever dared come so close. A light aura and a breath of power swelled and drifted down from the fire-escape above them. Gentle blue eyes twinkled down at them in the dark.

"Get down here," Dominique ordered. She should've known that only another vampire would've approached her. It was a young one, not even a decade old. Probably created just before the Hunter began his extermination. It was female—and unwelcome. Dominique could feel the twins trembling where they were crouched, their fear fueling her protective instincts and compounding upon her powerful desire to be left alone. The combination of emotions straightened her weary back, stilled trembling hands. "What the fuck do you want?"

"That's not very polite," the voice said with a laugh. "You could at least ask nicely." A shadowed figure leapt over the rusted iron bars of the fire escape and bounded from one perch to another until she landed in a careless crouch on the ground. "Ah!" She rose easily, blue eyes glimmering as she threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, I _never _get tired of doing that! You'd know what I mean, if you'd spent all your time being the weak, helpless one always left behind. But never mind that, dear, never mind that." Her short turquoise hair ruffled in the breeze of her creation as she grinned at the twins watching her fearfully. "I have a son; he's a handful, too. Sweet boy, most of the time, but sometimes I'm thankful he didn't have any siblings."

"You." Dominique narrowed her eyes as she slid down from the dumpster to stand on her own two feet. "I know you. You look..."

"Familiar? Well, I remember you." Her voice had the slightly absent, upper-class cadence of the educated. "You would be Ms. Dominique Kellis, Sister to Satin Sin." The stranger eyed Dominique up and down without a trace of hesitation. "I always marveled at how _young _you really are. Not in age, of course. Years mean nothing, honestly, not to those like us. Not anymore. Funny," she added vaguely to herself, "how I used to be so obsessed with staying young and pretty forever. Careful what you wish for, hmm?"

Dominique stared intensely at her, prodding at her with her aura. It wasn't much, but it was enough to tell the other woman that she was most definitely unwelcome here. The younger vampire didn't seem to take the hint. "You have no sense of self-preservation," Dominique decided after a minute.

The woman smiled pleasantly as if Dominique hadn't spoken or tried to intimidate her with power. "I suppose introductions are in order. It's been a while, hasn't it?" She stuck out her hand, blue eyes shining in the dark. "My name is Bulma Briefs. I believe you already know my son?"

An alarm sounded in Dominique's head. Oh, she was a fool—how was it that she didn't recognize those blue eyes? She steadily glowered at the offered hand until Bulma took it back. "I _knew_ it." Distrust and suspicion darkened her voice. "You're the Hunter's mother, the one Satin killed."

"Killed?" Bulma tilted her head thoughtfully and cupped her elbows in her hands. She rolled her eyes upward in thought. "Hmm. Well...in a sense, I suppose I'm dead. However, that belief runs into a wall of logic, doesn't it? I have as much of a heartbeat as the next sentient creature and blood runs in my veins, even if it's not all my own." Her tone was casual, a scientist dissecting facts and theory. "I believe that it perhaps depends on your definition of death. Can something that walks, talks, feels, truly be considered dead?"

Dominique already disliked her. "You're scaring my Children."

"I'm sorry." Bulma looked down and smiled warmly at the trembling twins, taking an obligatory step back. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you." She held her fingers up in a mock salute. "Scout's Honor."

For some reason, her cheerful and friendly attitude made Dominique want to backhand her right in her beaming face. Something about her smile struck Dominique the wrong way. "_What_ do you want?" she demanded coldly.

"I was wondering if you'd seen my son in the last few days." Bulma continued to smile. "Have you?"

Her answer was a tired, grateful, "_No_."

Tentatively, Apollo and Artemis straightened and stood, only slightly cowering behind Dominique now. "_That's_ the Hunter's mother?" Apollo whispered, peering around the dumpster's edge for a better look. His sister wasn't as brave. "That doesn't make sense. Mother. She's a...a..."

"Vampire?" Bulma offered. She sighed softly, lowering her lashes. "Yes. It's a long story. Trust me, you don't want to hear it. It's not a nice tale for little ones." Her gaze moved up again to the older vampiress. "Anyway, Ms. Kellis, I'm glad to see you're in good health."

Her expression was deadpan. "Yes, because catching a cold is definitely high on my list of concerns."

Bulma seemed unfazed by her sarcasm. "I say so only because it seems that your _beloved_ Sister was not so fortunate." The word 'beloved' took the form of a slur on her tongue. Her opinion on Satin was clear.

"The police finally caught her, did they?" Dominique forced her face to show no emotion, though her relief was profound. It was true that the streets had been mostly quiet. But that hadn't stopped the fear and anxiety. She was always checking over her shoulder for any sign of her Sire. Just because she was wounded did not mean that Satin wasn't somewhere near. A thought drifted through her mind and her relief was lightly tainted. "Or was it the Hunter?"

"Bingo." Bulma smiled, nodding. "Trunks was called in when they found the Atkins family, and Satin was still in the basement. Blood deprivation, apparently. The damage they say you did on her is astounding, to be sure. I wish I could've seen it. They took her for questioning and have her tucked away in holding. This was about...oh, say, six days ago." She spread out her hands graciously. "I thought I'd deliver the good news."

Her black brows rose. "And it took you this long to find me?"

Bulma grinned, flashing fangs. "Ah, but when Dominique Kellis doesn't want to be found, she isn't found."

"The way you smile makes me want to hurt you," Dominique told her blandly. "You're lucky I can't be bothered right now to act on these feelings."

"My apologies." She didn't sound sorry in the least. "I've been meaning to ask, how _have _you been since last I saw you? If I remember well, you were at a bit of an impasse in your life then, yes? Something about feeling lonely, I think. I trust this has been—" she glanced at the twins, "—rectified?"

"Alright. That's it." Dominique raised a hand for silence with a sharp gesture that dated her. "For fuck's sake, I can only listen to so much bullshit in one night." Her eyes hinted at a glow. "For the third and final time, what the hell do you _want_?"

"Mm-hmm, an impatient one." Bulma chuckled, rocking back on her feet. "Like my late husband... You're right in that I haven't scoured the city for you just to tell you what you already undoubtedly knew. It just so happens that I've planned a meeting with my son." Bulma wondered what emotions lurked behind that careful expression of hers. "I'm sure there's much the pair of you should discuss. And your...children, of course, are welcome to come with you."

Dominique glanced down at Artemis and Apollo. Her twins peered up at her with wordless pleading. She slanted her eyes at them. Oh, they couldn't be serious... "And just what part of this whole ordeal seems like a good idea to you two?"

Their grins faltered at her tone. Artemis nibbled on her lower lip. "Mother, why can't we go?"

"You're barely a week old, and you want me to take you to see the Hunter responsible for the annihilation of nearly the entire race of vampires." Exasperated and annoyed, she looked away from them. "Yes. Of course, that's a good idea. _Marvelous_. Instead of avoiding him and living a bit longer, let's go bouncing into his presence so he can end us all in one stroke. _Brilliant_, Children. Come and talk to me about it again when common sense prevails." Dejected and stung by her tone, the twins hung their heads and looked pitiful. Their Mother rarely refused them anything, and their disappointment was keen.

"Oh, come now." Bulma's voice was low, coaxing. "So rigid, Ms. Kellis. Lighten up. There's much ones as young as your twins could learn from this experience. It may be an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for them, after all."

Dominique flung her glare the genius's way. She would not be undermined, not when it came to her Children's safety. "They have an eternity of lifetimes and none of them will be spent with Mr. Briefs. And how do I know this isn't a trap?" She gestured emphatically with her hands. "You're the Hunter's _mother_, for God's sake. Maybe you want him to take care of us, get us out of your way. Maybe you've got your own sick motives for wanting to throw us together."

"I'm afraid I've never been the type to resort to those kinds of mind games, Ms. Kellis," Bulma said with mild humor and a shrug. "Well. They are _your _Children, after all. If you'd rather put them into hiding while you accompany me, then that _is _your decision. However, I must admit, I'm surprised. I would think that you would feel safer having them close, where you could protect them, instead of somewhere out of your reach." Her deep blue eyes studied the older vampire in the dark. "Satin may be in holding, but I do believe SIF is still out for _your _blood—and you know them well enough to know that they will go through your Children to get you."

Artemis and Apollo flinched at the low growl that crawled up from their Mother's throat. Dominique was no idiot; she'd already run those possibilities through her mind. She'd only hoped, vainly, that she could tuck the twins somewhere safe. _Nowhere is safe, _she reminded herself. She ran her fingers through the curtain of her long hair until she was yanking on it.

It seemed she was expected to confront the Hunter. It sounded like a death wish. It was only pure luck that he hadn't already hunted her down and carved her up in a slow, agonizing death. Perhaps he was only waiting for her to come out of hiding... Dominique shook her head and closed her eyes, thinking hard. What to do? Put them in danger and risk her not being able to protect them? Or should she ignore the Hunter and risk having him find their daytime resting place? She remembered how he'd managed to nearly kill Satin in her sleep. Her Children wouldn't stand a chance. At least now, they could defend themselves. At least now, she could try to protect them if it _was _a trap.

The twins watched her anxiously; Bulma waited patiently. After a few minutes, Dominique opened her eyes with a bone-weary sigh. She had no other choice. She gazed at Bulma, dropping her hands from her hair. "When and where?" she demanded, frowning severely when her Children leapt up and thanked her for changing her mind. "Don't you dare thank me. I _mean _it. If I could help it, you'd be underground in a whole other country."

Bulma smiled absently, pleased with her acquiescence. "Tomorrow night. Dark Haven Cemetery. It's a full moon."

Dominique peered at her through narrowed eyes. "How disgustingly clichéd," she spat bitterly.

* * *

The Executioner-in-training shivered as a chilled wind swept over him. Mid-January in the city was not kind when it came to cold and fog. His brown eyes peered at the wrought-iron gate that stretched more than two feet over his head. The whole scene seemed like something out of a horror movie. He glanced askance at his mentor. "You're meeting the subject outside of a graveyard?"

Trunks clasped his holster-belt around his waist, making sure his thin wooden stakes were all there. His sword was already sheathed and secure at his hip. He didn't look up at the teenager as he corrected, "Inside."

The boy's eyes bugged in his head. "You're meeting a vampire _inside _a _graveyard_?" he choked out, tossing a hand towards the looming gate. "What the hell are you on? Isn't that dangerous?"

"Allen." Trunks took his bag of supplies from the trunk and dropped it at the teen's feet. He straightened and pointed an unforgiving finger in Allen's face. "Shut the fuck up."

All his life, Allen had wanted to be a Registered Executioner. He had studied, he had trained, and he had practiced the simulations again and again. He'd known he could do it. He'd admired Trunks Briefs from afar for several years, and had jumped at the opportunity to go with him on this case, despite the older man's fervent protests that he would go alone. Allen cast a cautious glance at the gate again as Trunks slammed the trunk closed. He wished now, desperately, that he hadn't championed so hard for himself. "You want me to wait here?" he asked quietly. "Guard the car?"

Trunks didn't spare him a glance as he shouldered open the great black gate. It creaked shrilly, protesting his lack of care. "You're going to want to shut up now. Otherwise, you're not going to even make it back to the car."

Allen let out a shuddering breath that fogged before his eyes. He tossed the bag over one shoulder and followed closely on Trunks' heels. It seemed that he wouldn't be let off the hook he'd thrown himself on so easily.

Trunks had known from the get-go that the kid wasn't ready to be out in the field. He was too young, too inexperienced, and Trunks shouldn't have been the one to educate him. It was not his job to baby rookies. He had enough on his mind as it was and he was honestly far more concerned with how he was going to handle the night.

They moved past ruined gravestones and crumbling mausoleums, Trunks glaring over one shoulder at the teen behind him. If he was going to be an Executioner, he was going to have to grow a fucking spine. This duty wasn't for the faint of heart and Allen was flinching at every shadow that moved, turning at every sound that came from the fog. Having highly tuned senses was essential; being paranoid was insanely dangerous.

Trunks froze mid-step, one hand going to the blade at his side, the other held up in the signal for 'stop'. Allen bumped into his back and apologized; Trunks shushed him sharply. "Someone's here," the Executioner ascertained, eyes sweeping over the gloomy darkness.

There was a soft laugh, bouncing off of fog and stone tablets. "Ohh," sighed the voice in the fog. "Is it the tall one? He's very handsome."

Allen whimpered and clenched a fistful of Trunks' long-sleeved shirt, earning himself a smoldering look. A sound of disgust followed the female voice. "Oh, _sick_," another sneered—to the female? "Don't make me puke."

Trunks took a stake in hand, muscles tensing in preparation for a fight. There was more than one—weak, young, but unexpected. "Get out here," Trunks commanded firmly.

"B-By order of SIF," Allen stammered out.

A breath of power tickled over his skin and Trunks turned, shoving Allen down and out of possible harm's way. He flipped the stake in his hand, ready to jam its sharpened edge wherever he needed to. Unlike most of the older vampires, young ones didn't yet believe in honor or fighting face-to-face. He didn't trust them not to sneak up on him from behind. He didn't need anymore scars.

But when he turned, he saw _her_ instead. She leaned back against a bare ash tree, arms folded casually and a small smile on her face. His mother's smile grew when they made eye contact. The recognition nearly staggered him. He swallowed hard against the tight lump in his throat. God, she looked the same...the exact same as the last time he'd seen her alive.

His knees felt weak beneath him with shock and a powerful wave of longing he had to squash instantly. She was dead. She had died four years ago. He had buried her in the park, beneath the flower garden she'd always loved. He had put her in the ground, below it, where only the dead lay... But she was right here, right in front of him, defying all forms of logic. Her cheeks were rosy with life, her blue eyes bright with humor. His fight or flight response struggled to kick in but he smothered it. He locked his legs firmly in place to keep from simply sinking to his knees. _Once you accept a job, there's no backing down. A vampire is a vampire. A demon with a human face. A demon with a human face. A demon with my mother's face. Oh God. _

Bulma turned her eyes down to Allen, who cowered on the ground behind her son. "Oh. Trunks, look, you've frightened him to death," she admonished with a small grin. "You'd think we were ghosts the way he looks at us." She laughed softly at the wide-eyed fear in Allen's face. "Don't be afraid, Allen, we won't hurt you."

"Damn!" There was a thud as someone kicked the tree trunk, splintering the wood; the sound made Allen flinch with a whimper. The form of a sullen, sulking teenage boy slumped against the old headstone only feet from the Executioner-in-training. Allen could only distantly connect his mind to the fact that this snarling monster was near his own age. Apollo jammed his hands in his pockets and scowled, his auburn hair falling into his face. "Where's the fun in that?" he demanded, flashing his fangs menacingly at Allen. "Why not draw just a little blood?"

Trunks felt Allen convulse into shivers, his back trembling against the Saiyan's legs. He ripped out another stake when a shadow on the young vampire's left lengthened, giving way to a frowning female. Trunks sized her up in moments: thin, young, and bearing enough family resemblance to the boy to pass as a twin. She snarled at him and batted at him halfheartedly. "Oh, grow up, Apollo," she said with a sister's disdain. "All you've done tonight is bitch, bitch, bitch..."

"Fuck off!" he hissed, baring white and shining fangs in the dark. "I wasn't talking to you, was I?"

"Shut up. You're _embarrassing_ me." Artemis turned around and blinked at the mortals before her. She had been around a few humans often enough to be able to sense the differences in their auras, their energy signatures. The dark-haired teen on the ground was human, young, and stupid. But the other, the tall one she'd spied earlier... She pointed to Trunks, nodding to show she was speaking to him. "Are you the one the vampires call the Hunter?" she asked.

Just a few days ago, he'd had no idea that these three vampires had existed. It was better, definitely better, that this was his final case. He was losing it, falling apart. It was good to know this would all be someone else's problem very soon. He stared intently at the girl. "What's it to you if I am?"

Artemis stood inches from him in the time it took to blink. Allen backpedaled away, shoving himself against the base of a rotting tree. His chest heaved with fear. She had come so close, that-that _creature _that looked like any girl he'd see on the street had been close enough to touch him. Only Trunks' earlier warning of not making it back to the car had kept him as quiet as possible.

Lifting her chin defiantly, Artemis peered deep into Trunks' eyes. She knew only what Mother had taught her in a brief time: how to bespell a human to follow you, to tell the truth, or to stay away. This was the first time in a week that she'd encountered a mortal who wasn't afraid to meet her gaze, knowing what she was. In fact, Trunks glowered right back as if determined to prove to her that she held no sway over him. Grey locked intensely with deep blue until Artemis shivered and backed away slowly, keeping him in her sight. "Scary," she mumbled, rubbing her hands up and down her goose-bumped arms.

When she grew close enough, Apollo straightened and curled a defensive arm around his sister, frowning when she trembled against him. "What's wrong?" he murmured to her, glancing up to glare at the Hunter still eyeing them.

"He's cold." Artemis nestled against her big brother. "Inside. All the mortals before...they were warm, they were warm and moving, remember?" Her eyes were glowing in the dark as she shied away from Trunks' stare. "He's not. Polly, he's _cold_ inside."

Bulma clicked her tongue and shook her head at the fledglings, fighting not to smile. "I can't say you weren't warned. Didn't I tell you my son was powerful?" She caught the baleful look Trunks shot at her when she spoke. Bulma arched a brow and pointed a maternal finger at him. "Oh, and don't you give me that scowl, young man. You may be a Super Saiyan, you may be a big, bad member of SIF, but I am still your mother."

"The mother I buried was a human woman with a soul," he said quietly through bared teeth. "You don't seem to match the description."

The vampire flinched as if he'd physically stricken her. She seemed to shrink in on herself, tucking her arms close to her body as her shoulders hunched. Her voice was still softly logical. "I didn't bring you here to make you angry," she clarified. "That's never been my intention with this meeting. I...I only wanted to see you, son. It's been so—"

The needle-thin stake quivered in its spot just above Bulma's ear, burrowed deeply into the flesh of the dead ash tree. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, as she listened to the sound of wood vibrating inside wood less than an inch from her skin. Trunks had a replacement stake in his right hand the moment he'd let the first fly. "The word 'son' should _never _come out of your mouth, you disrespectful leech." His nostrils flared with his rage, even as his voice remained cold. "You're _not_ my mother and I won't let you desecrate her memory with your fucking lies. I am not your son, in any sense of the word."

Liquid fire split through Trunks' skull suddenly and swiftly. Molten and fluid, it coated his mind until his own thoughts burned as they formed. He grunted, his eyes wide and legs weak, and fought against the surprise assault. It was power, _strong_ vampiric power—it carried the weight of an Elder, or at the very least, a Sire. But he knew the signature entwined with the pain; it belonged to Kellis. He pressed against it with all of his will and released his own aura, numbing the burning in his mind. He had never been proficient in magic, but in the last few years, he'd managed to manipulate his own powers to suit his needs. He broke free with a vicious oath, shaking his head to vanquish the last traces of fire, and was met with Dominique's cerulean eyes.

Allen's hand fumbled inside the collar of his shirt to curl shaking fingers around his cross. He had seen and heard more than enough about Dominique Kellis to be afraid.

Oh, was she ever angry. Her face was without expression, her mouth a thin line. The only visible tell that betrayed her rage was her icy, glowing eyes. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Briefs." Her tone was formal, cold. "Mothers are hard to come by these days, undead or not." Her eyes darted to her Children. They were safe—frightened, alarmed at her churning power, but unharmed. She let out a controlled breath. The glowing blue swirled as if disappearing down an invisible drain until her irises were their former green once more.

"Well. All that innocent blood must have given you a lot power, Kellis," Trunks observed coldly. How quickly things changed in so short a time. If he blinked, he could just barely see the woman who had wept in his arms, begging for death. Belle's feeble screams cried their agreement in his head. It was all so very cruel and unfair. "I don't recall you being this strong two weeks ago. Isn't amazing just how much strength slaughter will grant you?"

Dominique snapped her fingers. "Children. I'd prefer it if you would step away from Mr. Briefs."

"Okay, Mother." Artemis and Apollo crept towards Dominique, staying as far out of reach of Trunks as possible. They had already seen more than enough to conform Mother's warning: the Hunter was dangerous.

Trunks glowered, fiery blue eyes following the twins' every movement. "_What_ did you call them?" he hissed. Until that moment, he hadn't believed Chryssatin. It had still seemed out of the spectrum of things Dominique Kellis was capable of: damning another soul. But the two cringing teenagers shattered that misgiving. "A couple of kids. What's the matter, Kellis?" She met his gaze head on. "Get lonely?"

Her brows dropped down sharply, making her face into something dark and angry. "You never know when to shut the _fuck_ up, do you?"

Without warning and without sound, Trunks was catapulted through the air. He landed firmly on his back, his elbows scraping the harsh ground and his stakes skittering from his fingers. He glared at the unmoved vampire. Telekinesis. She'd had only the faintest hint of it before, but now it seemed the talent was fully developed. The perks of draining three powerful young witches to death apparently were endless. "You _bitch_," he spat.

A rusty shadow shifted at his right and a left-hook caught the Hunter squarely on his chin, jerking his head back. He'd been so focused on Kellis, so stupid, he'd forgotten the fledglings. Young or not, they were still vampires and they still had their physical strength to rely on.

"Don't you ever speak to Mother that way!" Artemis shrieked at him, clutching her throbbing fist to her chest. It'd hurt like fucking hell to hit him, like punching a solid steel wall. Blood dripped down her fingers from torn knuckles and tears struggled to seep from her eyes. She'd broken three small bones in her hand, she just knew it.

Regaining his senses, Trunks was aware of being hauled to his feet, a hand fisted in his collar. Heated gray eyes met his before another fist came flying. Enough time had passed for the shock to fade; training kicked in. Apollo may have had the momentary element of surprise, but Trunks had two decades of training and experience. He ducked the wide swing, letting the boy's momentum carry him forward. He snatched Apollo's shirt, yanked him down, and jerked up his knee dead center into the teen's chest.

Apollo's eyes widened and his mouth fell open as Trunks' kneecap made significant contact with his ribcage. The snapping sound of ribs collapsing under the pressure was loud enough to be heard by all in attendance. Allen slapped his hands over his ears as Artemis screamed and Dominique snarled. Apollo crumpled to his knees with a hoarse wheeze, gripping his sides as he gagged up blood. His sister dropped down at his side, supporting his weight as she gave Trunks a warning growl. But the depths of those mean gray eyes reflected helpless terror. Apollo was far stronger than she was, and if he could be taken down in one blow...

Bulma tapped her fingers on her arms pensively, chewing her lower lip. This was not what she had planned for. In fact, this disaster had not even been in the realm of possibility for her expectations. She had calculated that her son would be happy to see her. Of course, he would be. He had to be happy to see her. He'd missed her just as much as she'd missed him, right? And what scientist could she honestly call herself if she hadn't expected him to be a little shocked? And he _had _been shocked when he'd laid eyes on her. She'd seen that, and the other emotions he'd struggled to hide. But this...? This went beyond shock, beyond anything she could excuse away easily. This was downright hatred. She didn't understand. He really hadn't been a hateful child. Where had this capacity for loathing _come _from?

Bulma searched her son's eyes while he glared at the fledglings. There was a terrible moment of awareness when she realized those calm blue irises were as dead as a corpse's. Where was the warmth, the spark of life she had always seen when he'd looked at her? It was gone, replaced by a wretched doll's stare. It was severely distressing; she wasn't quite sure she could handle this. But she couldn't back down now. A sudden niggling sensation in the pit of her stomach alerted her to Dominique's intentions. Bulma looked up at the older vampire just as she was lifting a hand towards Trunks. "No!" Bulma yelled, startling the woman. "Don't!"

Dominique slid a glare Bulma's way. Trunks had hurt her Son, and she was not going to stand there and let him get away with it. It wasn't as if this hesitant little scientist, the cause of all this, was doing anything about it. "What _is_ it?" she demanded.

"Don't hurt him," Bulma ordered softly, stepping forward. "I think letting your Children attack him was more than enough. We didn't come here to fight."

Dominique dropped her hand and made a disgusted noise, restraining the urge to roll her eyes. "Oh yes, that's right. We've come to _talk_, haven't we? That was the point of all this insanity—we all need a great big fucking heart-to-heart." Dominique pulled a face at her children. Apollo's ribs were nearly mended now, and his breath no longer rattled in his chest. She should've followed her gut instincts and hidden them away. "Artemis, help your brother up and both of you get the hell out of here."

Artemis looked at her sharply, afraid. She was sending them off alone? Where would they go? Since their meeting, the twins had never been separated from their Sire. Her voice was high, slightly whiny with fear. "Mother—"

"I said go!" she snapped, strengthening the command with a whip of power.

Groaning, Apollo propped himself up on his elbows and reached up to clasp his sister's hand. "Together," he rasped, flexing his fingers to reassure her. Joining forces, the twins wrapped themselves in the foggy shadows and vanished, leaving only the two female vampires, Trunks, and the terrified Allen. Sudden silence hung in the air as if part of the oppressive, damp fog.

"Talk," Trunks repeatedly blankly. If a vampire wanted to talk, perhaps an Executioner hadn't been the best person to call. Trunks didn't trust the vampires to only 'talk' for long. And when the time came for talking to be over, he'd be ready. He stepped to the side, drawing his sword as he put his back against the solid foundation of a stone angel. The winged man above him held a sleeping stone child, peering mournfully down at its charge. Trunks flipped his sword, keeping his arm lank and the sharp tip aimed at the ground. "Let's talk then—for whatever good it'll do you."

Dominique folded her arms, keeping her position several meters across from Trunks. Her own back was left open, exposed to the night air, but she was more concerned with the threat glaring her in the face. She tossed a quick glance to Bulma. "This is your meeting," she reminded the former heiress. "You may as well get started. I've got nothing to say."

"Maybe it was my idea," Bulma coaxed gently with a little wave of her hand. "But I'm sure you can find it within yourself to muster up something. I'm sure you know that an apology would be nice?"

Both vampire and Hunter stared at her in blank disbelief. Dominique recovered first, eyes narrowing. "You _must_ be joking," she said at last.

Maternal consternation rippled over the genius's face. "I don't know if you've forgotten, Ms. Kellis, but there are quite a few things you could try to make amends for. The deaths of the Atkins family, maybe?" Her expression softened into something like regret. "That was a terrible tragedy...wasn't it?"

Dominique started with a visible flinch, caught completely off-guard. She hadn't been prepared to hear of the Atkins family from _this _one; she'd prepared herself against Trunks. "Who the _hell_ do you think you are?" she managed to bite off acidly. "You're not _my_ mother, that's for damn sure."

"No. I'm not," Bulma agreed sagely. "That doesn't make you any less wrong in the matter. Don't you think you could say _something_?"

Trunks watched through slit eyes. An apology wasn't going to bring the Atkins witches back. If anything, it would only twist the knife that grief had thrust into his chest. To grip his sword better, Trunks flexed his hands. Glancing down at his white knuckles, the demi-Saiyan became aware of the fact that his hands were shaking. His frown was distant, disconnected. Somewhere in the corner of his mind, it registered that his hand hadn't trembled like that in a long time.

"What harm can it do? The least you could do is make the attempt," Bulma decided, giving Dominique a weak shove towards her son. The older vampire shook off her touch with a scowl. Bulma made a shooing motion with her hands. "It couldn't hurt to try and make him understand, can it?"

Dominique's eyes were baleful on other woman. She couldn't help but feel as if she'd been secretly manipulated into coming to a meeting about _her_. Warily, she turned to face Trunks once more, only to find him already staring coldly at her. She _was _sorry. Sorry, in fact, didn't even begin to cover the depth of her emotions. How to express it? Was there even a way to convey those feelings into actual words? And how could she possibly expect him to understand? "Most of that night is one ugly blur." She shoved her hands into her pockets to hide her anxious fidgeting. Her shoulders were hunched, her eyes averted. "There's so much I don't remember..."

Trunks only nodded absently. "That's convenient," he said emotionlessly. "When does that faulty memory of yours start to kick in, Kellis?" Belle sobbed in his head, begging for the pain to stop. "Was it long after they were dead, or just after you finished that last drop?"

Inside her coat, her fingers twitched into fists as her stomach was wracked with nausea. Any other vampire, she was sure, would enjoy the mental image his words conjured. It only made Dominique feel sick. "Cara is my friend—Lina and Belle mean the world to me. They... " Her breath caught suddenly. "They... _meant _the world to me. You know that I would never... If it hadn't been for Satin, none of this would've happened. There's no way in hell it would've ever happened!"

"It's always because of your Sister, isn't it, Kellis?" He tilted his head, tone impassive. "Take responsibility. Take _credit _for your work. _You_ killed them, after all. Not Chryssatin."

Dominique met his gaze defiantly. "And who did you hear that from? You've learned to trust the word of Miss Satin Sinclair?" she demanded fiercely, her voice echoing against the surfaces of the cold grave markers. "This is the vampire responsible for all this mayhem and destruction, the one responsible for killing your mother."

Bulma's expression was delicately pained as she corrected, "I'm right here."

"The word of a vampire actually means very little to me, in the scheme of things." Trunks inclined his head back a little to stare down at her. She really was small, wasn't she? _Such a slender little neck and so easily snapped—crunch, crunch, broken bone... _"You're going to die eventually, every single one of you leeches. What's the difference to me if _I_ kill you or the government does? As long as you're not around anymore, I can be satisfied."

Dominique turned away to stalk in a short, impatient circle. She came back to stand before him, teeming with heat. "What happened to the man who was going to help me kill Satin?" Was that desperation in her voice? "She has to die for this. She's got to fucking pay for what she's done."

He blinked at her without expression. "She has to be punished for her crimes," he agreed. "But so do you."

"Oh, there's still no fucking gray in that black-and-white world of yours, is there?" she demanded acerbically. "There's only good or evil, no in-between, no room for traps or mistakes or manipulative, sociopathic bitches!"

"You can make all the excuses you want, Kellis," Trunks returned quietly. "It won't change a thing."

Allen flinched as the vampire cursed, his arms curled over his head and his face pressed against his bunched knees. He was whispering half-remembered prayers as fast as he could form the words. Bulma fidgeted uncomfortably, taking stock of the situation. This...really was not going well. She had not expected her son to forgive Dominique—it was much too soon for that—but she was uneasy over his real lack of reaction.

_For every action, there is a reaction. _It was a basic law of physics, and so far, there'd been no reaction.

Trunks touched a finger to the flat of his blade. It was cold and smooth under his fingertip. He'd had it reinforced the day before, finished with a bath in boiling, blessed silver. The blade gleamed in the dark, unnerving in its spotlessness. For a moment, it seemed as if he'd forgotten the others, so fierce was his concentration on his sword. After some time, he spoke again. "In four days, Satin Sin will be executed. There will be no trial, and there are no attorneys. If you're lucky, I might let you live long enough to see her die." Trunks' blue eyes were empty, frosty as a doll's. "I have some doubts that you'll make it that long, however. Or _you_," he said, turning his head slightly to peer at Bulma. "And when I'm done with you, Kellis, your Children are next."

Her protective instincts shrieked. "You won't get near them," Dominique growled, her spine stiffening. "Even if you do your worst, I'll make sure they'll be safe from you, somewhere."

Trunks tapped his blade again. "You can't protect them from Hell, Kellis," he told her. "And you can't protect them from me."

"Just you fucking try," Dominique hissed. "They're my Children, and I won't let you lay a finger on them."

Trunks stared at her for a heartbeat before astonishing the other three occupants of the graveyard. He did something no one expected, something no one would've dreamt happening: he _smiled_. Trunks smiled as if Christmas had come early, as if the Dragonballs still existed and he'd been given the life he'd been meant to have. "That," he murmured with his warm grin and cold eyes, "is _exactly_ why you won't survive much longer. Those creatures will be your downfall, your weakness." His smile subsided as suddenly as it had come. "Allen! I'm not responsible for you from here on out."

"I-I'll get help!" the teen whimpered, scrambling to his feet. He held one of Trunks' stakes in his shaking hand, backing slowly away. Bulma tried not to express her unhappiness as the boy finally turned to run, stumbling over graves obscured by the fog. From here, she could hear his young heart pounding, hear his ragged breath as he ran full-out. The gate screamed as he fell against it, forcing it open. He'd dropped his bag somewhere along the way. After a couple false starts, Allen's car sped off with the engine shrieking and smoke flying. Bulma tsked sadly. Poor thing. He'd have nightmares for weeks. Such a young boy to be so tormented...

"Maybe you were right, Kellis," Trunks was saying casually. "At my house that night... maybe you were right after all. Maybe I _am_ damned. I lost my mother, my friends, people I work with, even strangers that I just couldn't get to in time. I know what it's like not to have anyone around, to be so completely and utterly alone that you know no other life." He closed his eyes, muttering to himself for a long, tense minute. When he opened them again, he sheathed his sword and smiled. "I don't have the strength right now to kill you, and to make sure both of you stay dead. Well," he amended suddenly, "I _do_, but there would be no guarantee that I'd leave alive. I don't think that wouldn't be so bad, being dead and all."

Bulma's heart was breaking. This had been the way her son was living? First, the hell he'd been through with Androids and time travel, losing Gohan. And then when she was taken from him. Now he spent his life killing people, _vampires_, and it didn't bother him. The gentle caring soul that was her son...was he lost to her? Was this cold murderous shell of a Saiyan all that was left? She had come too late. Bulma could see that now. She had waited too long, left him alone too long. He spoke of death as a dream come true. Bulma prayed that she had not lost her boy, not to something like this. "Trunks..." She went to him, reached out a hand to touch him, and she finally got what she wanted: he _reacted_.

His fingers tightened around her wrist and he yanked her around, bending her arm behind her back at an awkward angle. He stared down at her blankly as the joint snapped and Bulma screamed. "Don't you touch me," Trunks ordered with a blank sort of rage. "Don't you _fucking_ touch me. You're not real."

Tears streamed down her face as she wept. She cried with her pain, but her tears were more for her son. "Trunks, stop, please," she sobbed and cried out again when he twisted, crushing her wrist between his fingers. She could stop him, she knew she could make him let go. But to do so, she would have to hurt him, to fight him off, and Bulma just couldn't do that to him. He was already hurting enough—her pain was nothing, nothing compared to his.

Dominique looked away from the scene, cringing. It was not her place to intercede, and the last thing she needed was to go back to her children with a sword through her ribs—if she managed to get back to them at all. Technically, this fight was not hers to intrude upon. She owed the teal-haired woman nothing, she told herself. Bulma shrieked again, the sound breaking off into a pitiful kind of sobbing. Finally, the woman's pleas became too much. Dominique had never been one to enjoy torture, even if it wasn't her own. If the Hunter had simply killed Bulma, maybe she wouldn't have minded. She certainly would've never dreamed of stepping in. But torture was something that she couldn't bear. She couldn't stand here and listen to Trunks torment his mother. Her eyes flared blue, glowing in the dark as she lunged for Trunks.

Sensing her approach, the Saiyan shoved Bulma away. As the scientist stumbled, crumpling in a heap on the ground, Trunks crouched and charged to meet the vampire head on. Dominique knew he was aware of her and threw up her arms to brace for impact. The collision was a burning blur of golden heat and tsunami-strength winds. The force sent Dominique flying, tumbling head over heels until her flight was stopped by a crumbling mausoleum. With a pained gasp, she jerked into a sitting position amidst the filth and rubble, dust and ash covering her head to toe.

Swiping grit from her eyes, she stared at him with a mixture of awe and fear. Once, not so many years ago, she had felt something tight and hot and fierce pulsing in her blood. She and her Sister had stood inside a dilapidated skyscraper and watched a devastated teenage demi-Saiyan ascend to a legendary level of power in a burst of golden light and broken screams. It was the last time she had witnessed this amazing transformation with her own eyes; Trunks had been little more than an inexperienced boy, blinded by grief. But now... now he was grown, a warrior who could wield that astounding power—and a man that was completely insane.

Trunks rose from the ground where he'd landed, the dust swirling and tunneling around him. His hair hung in blond spikes around his head, bobbing slightly in the eye of his own hurricane. His sword was cast aside, abandoned; he had no need for it. His smile was gone, his mouth twisted in a vicious grimace that didn't match the empty, staring bright green eyes. There was no one home behind those eyes; whatever shred of humanity he'd possessed, he had finally lost it. He stepped back with his right leg, resting his weight behind him. He didn't blink as he drew back his hands until they were cupped at his side. The words that crawled from his mouth seemed to belong to someone else, from another time—from another world altogether.

"Ka... me... ha... me..."

Bulma's blue eyes widened and her mouth fell open in horror. It had been almost thirty years since she'd last seen it attempted, but she recognized the Kamehameha Wave. "_No_!" she screamed.

Blinking, startled, Dominique forced herself to her feet. She didn't want to see what had caused that look of terror on the other woman's face. Bulma had raised Trunks—if this was something that frightened _her_, they needed to get out of its way immediately. Dominique reached down and grabbed Bulma's good arm, yanking her abruptly to her feet. Her teal hair hung in lank ropes around her head, her face streaked with dirt and tears. "Get the hell out of here!" Dominique shouted. "Run!"

Staggering, the blue-haired scientist made a run for the gate. Her sobs caught in her throat as she exercised her rarely-used vampiric speed, jumping over any graves she couldn't dodge. Her healing arm throbbed at her side, the bones knitting slowly back into place. She stumbled, banging into the wrought-iron gate with a crash. She leaned heavily against it for a moment, gasping as she wept. No...it couldn't end this way, not for her son. Why couldn't it have been someone else's job to save humanity? Why couldn't it have fallen on someone else's shoulders to bear the weight of the world? He'd struggled to protect the world, and now look at him. If only she'd protected him better... She broke through the gate, crashing through to the slick, cold ground on the other side.

Dominique stayed behind, watching the demi-Saiyan warily with glowing blue eyes. She wasn't sure what she could do against whatever he was preparing, but something had possessed her to stay with him. There was something inside her that couldn't leave him here. Dots of bright blue light gathered between his palms, clustering together into a large sphere. The light was blinding, sharp as the rays of the sun. Dominique threw up an arm to shield her eyes from its intensity, grimacing.

Their eyes met over the growing ball of energy. His eyes were green, her own were blue. In that moment, meeting his dead gaze, Dominique realized that he didn't even know she was there anymore. It was no longer about _her_, about ending _her_. She knew, her heart thudding, that this was all about him now. He had said it himself: he didn't have the energy to kill her without killing himself in the process. That was what he was doing. He was ending _himself_.

"_No_." She lunged towards him, arm outstretched. She didn't know how to stop him, didn't know if she could, but she had to try. "No!" She was so close...

Trunks closed his eyes and the power exploded from his hands, his control. _"HA!" _

Dominique screamed as she was blinded, surrounded on all sides by searing fire.

Out in the cold ice-slicked street, the ground trembled with the force of a mighty earthquake. The sound of an explosion blasted through her sensitive hearing before the trauma forced her deaf. Bulma crashed to her knees, gasping as she looked over her shoulder and into the sapphire blue inferno that had once been Dark Haven Cemetery.

* * *

**FND: **I tell you, writing mentally-unstable Trunks makes me really sad sometimes. But it happens, doesn't it?

Okay, guys, this is the end of the updates for tonight. I'm nodding off at the computer. I'll add the last two of the reworked chapters (7 and 8) tomorrow. Hopefully, before the end of the month, the other updates will be ready: **Chapters 19 and 20**, the newly revamped **"Midnight Syndicate" **and the short story series "**Perhaps Someday"**, a multi-chapter series of "what-if" scenarios for VH.

I'd be absolutely ecstatic to hear your suggestions, wishes, and choices for "what-if" scenarios you'd like to see in "Perhaps Someday." All pairings and situations will be considered. Backstories and family origins are also usable. I'm dying to hear your ideas, and it will help me a grand amount in having a good stack of chapters for "Perhaps Someday."

Goodnight, guys!


	7. Hospitals, Hypocrisy, and Hostility

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

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Chapter 7

Hospitals, Hypocrisy, and Hostility

Jack Kennedy swallowed hard and stuck out his trembling hand.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," Bulma sighed softly. "I'm not going to hurt you...I haven't hurt anyone since I became like this."

He nodded, gulped, and allowed the Vampire to shake his hand. "I'm Lieutenant Jack Kennedy, I w-work with your son..."

"I figured that much," Bulma said. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Kennedy. Can you tell me...I want..." She paused to gather her thoughts and blurted out quickly, "They won't let me see him. Is my son okay?"

Kennedy looked at her blankly for a minute. "I...well, I'm not sure, Miss Briefs..."

"They won't let me in because I'm a Vampire," Bulma said with hurt anger. "He's my son and they won't even tell me if he's alive or not because I'm not Human anymore."

A little bewildered as to how to deal with the situation, Kennedy shrugged helplessly. "I can't change their minds on that, Miss Briefs. Vampires... are not very liked around here. I can, however, go check in on him for you, ma'am...."

Her expression softened. It would be so easy to think her mortal. "Thank you, Mr. Kennedy. I'd appreciate it very much."

Hesitantly, he put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it in a slight gesture of comfort. "I'm sure he's fine by now...I'll be right back."

Walking away, Kennedy shook his head. Goddamnit... He never thought that Trunks would go that far...and for what?

The young man had yet to regain consciousness. He'd nearly killed himself in the explosion as well as Dominique. Nothing brought him out of his comatose state. The doctors had stopped his pain medication in order to get a reaction. Trunks hadn't even moved. He was silent.

As for the other victim... Kennedy stopped walking and gazed at the bolted door to his right. Dominique wouldn't stop shrieking. She screamed and fought and attempted to break out many times. It had required three licensed witches to jinx the room and make it inescapable to the Vampire. Kennedy jumped at the bolted door swung open and a nurse walked out, holding his wrist to his chest.

The nurse kicked the door closed behind him, cursing. He noticed Kennedy. "She bit me, Lieutenant," he grumbled, glancing down at the open wound. "Could you watch her? I've got to go to the nurses' station and get some holy water for this thing." Kennedy nodded his reluctant assent. The nurse smiled ruefully. "That holy water burns like a son of a bitch on Vamp bites, but I'd rather be burned now than burned for all eternity."

Kennedy watched him leave and with one hand on the grip of his gun, he took the nurse's place inside. Dominique was sitting in a chair the farthest away from the window, her back to the door. Her upper body was decorated with white gauze bandages. She'd been injured badly, as well. Kennedy could not help but wince at the scars that danced across her flesh.

"Back for more, you bastard?" she hissed when Kennedy entered.

He froze.

"Oh, it's just you," Dominique grumbled, turning to glare at him. "What do _you_ want?"

"I've got to watch you, since you bit that nurse."

She shrugged. "He threatened to fry me if I didn't give him some answers on what happened at the cemetery. I bit him when he tried to hit me." She glanced quickly at the window. "I don't like this whole window thing... The sun is gonna burn me..."

"Not while we're here," Kennedy said quietly. "Ms. Remnants has some kind of magical block on it. The sun can't get through, princess."

Dominique whirled at him so fast her chair jerked against its bolts. "What did you just call me?"

Kennedy gulped. He'd slipped up. Did she know the names the boys down at the station called her and her Sister? "Nothing... Just a nickname I use for my daughter... Sorry."

Dominique glared at him. _'Liar,'_ she thought. He didn't have a daughter. She quickly and efficiently searched his mind for the source of the nickname. Mortals had too much free time, she realized."Are those witches still here?" she inquired.

"No, I think they left..."

"I see." Dominique looked at him and Kennedy quickly avoided her gaze. Never look in a Vampire in the eye; that was rule number one. "I'm not going to bewitch you with my eyes, Lieutenant. I have no respect for a Vampire who uses cheap tricks like that."

Kennedy kept his head turned away, his fingers trembling on his gun. God, he wanted to get out of there...

"Do me a favor, Lieutenant."

"I'm s-sorry, Miss Kellis, but I'm not at liberty to t-talk with you... We're on a case, you see, and well, you know..."

"Ah. Right. I just wanted to ask you something."

"Y-Yes?" Jeez, he was stuttering like a fool.

"The Hunter...he's not dead, is he?"

Kennedy looked at her so sharply that Dominique was startled. "You...care?" he wanted to know, frowning in bewilderment.

"Of course I do. It's kinda my fault he got into this mess. It's Satin's too, but she has two more days to live, so I don't care. She'll get what she deserves. But I feel bad for the Hunter. It seems like he's endured a lot..." Dominique folded her arms on the back of the chair and leaned her chin on them, pondering, considering.

"How do you feel about yourself?" Kennedy asked.

She sighed. "I don't like what I've become...I've never wanted to be a Vampire, you know. I was forced. It's a long story, and one I don't want to relive right now. But the Hunter was going to help me kill Satin, get rid of her once and for all. She found out..." Dominique glanced over her shoulder, green eyes full of soft sadness. "I had a spell on me that my friend Cara Atkins created. It was so I didn't have to hunt, so I didn't have to kill someone to live. The spell was weak and I was supposed to go to Cara's to strengthen it... But Satin locked me away until I suffered bloodlust...I went insane. When I came back to myself, the Atkins' were dead..." She closed her eyes. "It was horrible."

"That's when you and Satin Sin went head-to-head..." Kennedy offered. The way she had said 'friend', Kennedy would've bet anything at that moment that she was sincere.

"It was more like my fist to her head...but, yeah. Basically. I don't even fully understand what happened myself, Lieutenant. But all plans for Satin's destruction between the Hunter and I went down the pipes after that..."

"Why did you create the twins?"

"I found them...they'd been beaten up and left to die. They're young, Lieutenant. Only sixteen. They were going to die. I couldn't see anyone else die that night... It would've been more than my sanity could stand."

Kennedy sat down in the chair about four feet away from her. "Couldn't you have just healed them and leave them Human?"

"That's an ability for Vampires five hundred or older, Lieutenant. By Vampire standards, I'm still a child. I'm one hundred and forty-six years old."

He blinked at her. Had he seen her on the street and known nothing about her, he would've assumed that she was nothing more than eighteen. She was older than his great-grandparents. "Were you lonely, too?"

Dominique was quiet for a minute. "Not really...I guess I was scared to be alone. I didn't trust myself, and in a way, I still don't. My fledglings have to feed, but they only hunt those who are evil." She caught the look Kennedy sent her. "No, we are not evil. We hunt murderers, rapists, criminals, and the like." She smiled remorsefully. "Think of us as your preternatural police officers."

"That's...an odd way of putting it, Miss Kellis."

"I have another question for you, Lieutenant."

He stiffened and sat back slowly in his seat, hand ready for his gun. "Y-Yes?" Damn it, he'd started stuttering again!

"Can I watch?"

"Watch...what?" he inquired softly with confusion. This was a very strange conversation.

Dominique's eyes darkened. "I want to watch Satin die. I want to make sure she's dead. That she doesn't escape during the execution."

Kennedy smiled to hide his unease. "You're a morbid little thing, aren't you?"

"You could call me that... But I think 'cautious' is a better word. And my children... I'm sure that if Satin escapes she'll kill them, or for that matter, the Hunter will." Dominique hugged herself. "I'm not sure which one I fear more right now. I just know that Apollo and Artemis are in danger every second I'm not with them..."

The names struck something in Kennedy's brain. "Apollo and Artemis... children of Zeus, king of the gods. Greek mythology, right? Did you name them that?"

"Those are their real names," Dominique said quietly. "I wouldn't change them... I know what it's like when all you have left is your name, and someone has taken that from you, too. I'd do anything for them, even if it wasn't done for me..." Why am I telling him this? she wondered.

There was a knock at that door and the nurse whose nametag read 'Jim' stuck his head in, his wrist bandaged. "Sorry I took so long, Lieutenant. I hope that bitch hasn't given you too much trouble," he said glowering at Dominique.

She ignored him.

Kennedy stood and shook his head. "Not at all." He smiled slightly at the young Vampire and reached out a hand. "It's been very nice talking with you, Miss Kellis," he said warmly.

Dominique blinked at him in surprise and weakly smiling, slid her hand into his, shaking gently. "Likewise, Lieutenant Kennedy. I'd love to do it again sometime... And please, give Mr. Briefs my regards."

"Will do," Kennedy promised and walked past the stunned orderly. The door closed and he heard the nurse yell.

"You can be CIVIL!? Why aren't you that nice to ME!?"

Dominique replied, "Do you really want me to answer that or should I just bite you again?"

Kennedy's smile faded as he trekked down the hall. Now to go check on Trunks... When he came to the young man's room, he knocked softly and a doctor opened the door.

"Oh, Lieutenant Kennedy, I thought you'd gone home already."

"Nope..." he sighed as she moved to let him in. "I guess I'm just too worried about him to go home, Anna." Kennedy sat in the chair at Trunks' bedside. It hurt to see the vibrant young man so frail. His skin was the color of milk and his lavender hair limp. The only color in his face was from the fever blood loss had bestowed upon him. He tossed and turned with fever ever so often, whimpering softly. It had been so long since he'd seen the sparkling blue sky of Trunks' eyes. He was connected to enough machines to power half the city, and Kennedy hated them. Hated that he was living almost like a vegetable. It had all gone so wrong, so quickly. Trunks was bandaged in various places: his forehead, his cheek, his forearm. The worse was the large blood-soaked dressing taped against his side, just below his ribs. To Kennedy, he looked so much like a sick child and he wanted nothing more than for him to get well again. "How is he?" he questioned.

Dr. Anna Kinaki frowned. "First of all, when we gave him a CAT scan, the readings were off the charts. I suggest that before you ask him any questions, he see a psychologist. Also, that wound in his side concerns me a little bit... I'd say he got it when all the energy went haywire, but I don't know for sure. It's hard to give a blood transfusion to someone who isn't completely Human... His fever's gone down a little bit. But if he keeps losing blood like this, I'm not so sure he'll make it." Seeing the look of sorrow on Kennedy's face made Anna continue, "But Trunks is a strong kid. He's too stubborn to die, right, Jack?"

His throat had gone dry. "R-Right," he agreed. But in his heart he wasn't so sure. "Will he...I mean... can his mom see him?"

Anna's look cooled drastically and she wagged her finger at Kennedy. "Now you know how I feel about Vampires, Jack, ever since my husband got attacked. It was Trunks here who laid his soul to rest. I went out on a limb for you and got that demon down the hall treated. But that's it. My kindness isn't limitless, Jack."

"But it's his mother," Kennedy whined softly. "She's been out there for almost two days, waiting for news about him. She doesn't even know if he's alive."

Anna frowned. "Then I'll go talk to her. But there is no way in hell I'm letting that harpy or any of them demons in this room. You hear me? I mean it, Jack, no Vampires in this room. Capische?"

He nodded wearily. Well, at least Miss Briefs would get news. Kennedy was almost certain that Anna would not be gentle about Trunks' condition, but hey, he could only call in so many favors in so little time. "All right. Thanks a bunch, Anna. Really, I mean it."

She nodded at him, fisting her hands on her hips. "As long as we have an understanding, Jack, you and me got no problems." She glanced at the motionless figure on the bed. "You take care of my favorite patient right here, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said with an attempt at a smile. She went to tell Bulma, and Kennedy was left alone with the boy who seemed destined to save the world. He scooted his chair closer and leaned against the bedrail.

"Hey there..." he whispered. His heart ached to see what had become of the boy. "You know, Trunks, I've had respect for you since I've met you; hell, why else would I call someone twenty years younger than me 'sir'? I'd love to say that it won't ever change. But if you give up and die on me, Trunks, I'll never forgive you. We Humans need you. You protect us, make us feel safe. Maybe... if Humans were just a little bit stronger, a little bit faster, it wouldn't be up to you to take the weight of the world on your shoulders. You're so young, kiddo, only twenty-two. When I was your age, I was enjoying life. You're hoping yours is over soon. I really wish that things were different for you, Trunks." Kennedy let out a shuddering breath and raked a hand through his hair. He felt like he was going to cry. He sniffled and locked his fingers together to keep them from shaking.

Trunks groaned and tried to move, tried to make himself more comfortable. He was restrained against the bed to prevent such a movement and he whimpered softly. Kennedy was tempted to leave the room. He wasn't used to this, to seeing someone suffer... The muscles in Trunks' forearms flexed as he tried to move again. He groaned and his eyelids clenched, his mouth frowning. His violet lashes fluttered and Kennedy got a glimpse of blue before the eyes closed again.

"Trunks...?" Kennedy whispered.

Trunks strained against the leather straps locked around his body and fought to sit up. He cried out when the leather tightened around the wound below his ribs. He relaxed slightly, breathing heavily, whimpering.

He had to be in so much pain... Kennedy looked around for the nurse's call button. Someone had to help Trunks; he sure as hell couldn't.

"...J...Jack...?"

Kennedy froze and looked over at the young man. Dimmed sapphire orbs below lids at half-mast were locked onto him. He gave up searching for the damned button and turned to face him. He smiled weakly. "Hey... You're in the hospital, kid." Trunks struggled again. "Shh, no, no, no, Trunks, don't move...Don't move..."

The demi-Saiyan stared at him with blank panic. He couldn't move. He couldn't move and everything hurt. What was going on? Where was he? The...hospital? The hospital. The thought seemed to register to him and he calmed a little.

"You're in the hospital, kid." Kennedy repeated when some of the terror faded from his eyes. "Blink once if you understand me."

It took him a few seconds to get what Kennedy was saying but he blinked once. "J...Jack..."

"No, don't talk, Trunks. Save your strength." Kennedy swallowed hard. How do you interrogate someone at Death's Door? Despite Anna's warning, it had to be done. Kennedy couldn't wait for the psychiatrist and risk Trunks forgetting something important. "Blink once if you know what happened, twice if you don't."

The demi-Saiyan was still for a moment before blinking twice.

Kennedy sighed heavily. "Trunks, you destroyed Dark Haven's Cemetery. You blew it up; bodies were disintegrated. Do you remember that?"

Trunks' blue eyes narrowed in confusion. He blinked twice and shifted uncomfortably.

"Do you remember seeing Kellis?"

Two blinks. He didn't remember.

"Artemis and Apollo?"

A confused look and two blinks.

"Do you remember what happened to the Atkins' family?"

One blink.

"Okay, at least, we're getting somewhere." Kennedy did not like this at all. "Satin has a death sentence. Do you know that?"

One blink.

"And..." Kennedy debated on telling him this. "Your mother? Do you remember seeing her?"

Trunks stared at him for so long with a look of horror on his face, trembling, that Kennedy was afraid the young man was having a heart attack. He gently touched him. "Trunks?"

"M...Mom..." he gasped.

"Yes...your mother..."

"Let...Let...me...see...her...." Trunks ordered hoarsely.

"That's not a good idea."

"I...want...to...see...her!!" he grunted.

"No." Kennedy told him again, more firmly.

He blinked several times before struggling against his bonds again. His eyes were wild with too much white showing. He screamed. Trunks screamed and screamed. The monitors and machines went wild, shrieking and beeping and flashing red. Trunks fought and jerked in bed until the thick leather restraints snapped with a horrible ripping noise. He started ripping out IV's, removing bandages, and knocking over machines. And through it all, disoriented he chanted mournfully: "Mom! I want my mom!!"

Anna stumbled into the room, followed by two burly-looking orderlies. She took one look at Trunks and paled sharply. "Get me 100 cc's of tranquilizer!" she yelled to one of the men.

He looked stunned. "Dr. Kinaki, that much will kill him!"

Anna congratulated herself silently on not slapping him across his large face. "His metabolism is faster than anyone else's on Earth! Too little will have no effect on him!" She gave him a shove that had him stumbling and nearly falling over. "NOW GET MOVING!!"

He scampered off and Anna raced to the demi-Saiyan's bedside. "Hold his feet!" The other orderly struggled to capture Trunks' squirming, kicking feet. "Jack," she said, pointing to the stunned man, "help me hold down his arms until Ben gets back here with the medication!" Looking ill himself, Kennedy caught one of the Saiyan's flailing arms and struggled to pin it to his side, while Anna wrestled with the other one. The orderly at the foot of the bed took a sharp kick to the face, his jaw cracking horribly, but he faithfully held fast.

Trunks was crying. "Mom!" he wailed, thrashing, fighting. His mom... She couldn't be alive, not after all this time, not without him knowing. But she'd come for him, hadn't she? Was she waiting for him? Right now he didn't give a damn, but he wanted her there, to comfort him, to hold him and nurse his wounds until nothing ached, not even his heart. Like she used to do... "MOM!!"

Ben the orderly came thundering in, hypodermic needle in hand. "Got it, Doctor!"

Anna was on the verge of getting flung across the room as Trunks writhed beneath her. "Then stick him for God's sake before he kills us all!" she bellowed. Trunks' elbow drove against her and she lost her grip, her body thudding into the wall. Anna sank motionlessly to the floor, her head lolling against her chest.

Kennedy reached over and attempted to restrain both arms while Ben approached. It took him several moments before he was able to find a vein and insert the needle into the struggling Saiyan.

Trunks screamed again.

"Trunks..." a voice gasped.

Eyes filled with tears, pain racing through his entire body, Trunks looked towards the door.

Bulma stood, her hands pressed to her mouth as she looked on in horror.

He whimpered and reached a feeble hand to her. "Mom..."

Kennedy waited a moment to see his lids drooping and his muscles relaxing. The sedative was taking effect. He backed off slowly, warily, and winced at a twinge in his shoulder. Must've pulled something, he thought. He glanced at Ben and the orderly with the broken jaw. "We can let him go, guys. He can't do anything anymore." He glanced over and spotted Dr. Kinaki. "Anna!" Hurt shoulder and all, Kennedy dashed around the bed to her, kneeling beside her. "Anna, you okay?"

Bulma felt tears coming into her eyes as she took shaky steps towards her son. Looking at what he had done to himself hurt her more than any physical pain ever could. He was young again, a child in the eyes of the world. But Trunks had never truly been a child; children were innocent, had happy lives. He had been stripped of both at birth. Bulma could've staked herself for it, for allowing him to be born in such a world.

Trunks struggled in bed to move, to rise and throw his arms around his mother. Why had she left him alone? Why...in a world full of monsters? She was different, he realized suddenly. What was it that made his mother look like an entirely different person? But she wasn't, he told himself. She was just his mother.

Bulma gingerly climbed onto the hospital bed beside her son and held him against her, relishing just cradling him as he curled against her. Had it only been two years since she'd been so close to him? It felt like an eternity. Pressing him closer, resting her chin on top of his head, Bulma closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat. It was so weak... His heart, once so vital, so strong, was now so weary, so tired; it would never last. Blood flowed warmly against her, pulsating from the wound in his side. Tears slipped from beneath her turquoise eyelashes. Trunks was going to die, unless... It hit her: now was the perfect time to bring him over! "Sweetheart..." she called softly, bending over him and gently kissing his sweat-matted hair.

Cloudy blue eyes opened halfway. "Hmm...Mom...?"

"That's right, honey. I'll make sure you never hurt like this again. How does that sound?"

Delirious from the fever, reeling from the tranquilizer, he slurred, "Good..."

Bulma needed no further invitation. She turned his head to the side gently, her cool fingers tracing his neckline where his pulse thudded. She wanted to warn him that it would hurt, that he would still die a mortal death, but she didn't. He would know soon enough. Bulma gazed into his face and realized he had lost consciousness. Well, it would be less pain for him... She drew her fangs out of hiding and plunged them into the tender flesh of his throat.

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"One million one...one million two...one million three...ARGH!" Dominique screamed in frustration. Boredom was one thing she did not handle well. She had been counting the tiny plywood dots on each ceiling tile and now she had a headache, like something was nagging at the back of her head. She was lying on her back on the slim cot the hospital had provided for her and Dominique pondered which was more comfortable: the cot or the torture chamber?

**_'That is the question, isn't it, Little Sister?_ _Would you like to find out?_'**

Dominique jumped and rolled, her feet hitting the floor. Her eyes darted every which way around the blackened room. That sounded suspiciously like Satin. Satin talking in her head. That was creepy by itself, but wasn't she—

**_'In prison? How nice of you to remember, Dominique. Will I have the privilege of seeing you at my ceremony?'_**

Cautious, she replied, _'Don't you mean execution? And you bet your ass I'll watch you fry.'_

_**'Well, I've always known that you've never liked me; at least now you've admitted it. No more charades. Good for you, Sister.'**_

_'Don't call me that.' _she hissed back. _'I'm not your sister!'_

Dominique could practically see Satin smirking. In fact, she was sure she could. The jailers had allowed Satin her own clothing; she reclined in a chamber more like a hotel room than a prison cell.

_'Thanks for the image of you living the life...'_

_**'They allow the **"_doomed_"_ **_anything they want. So what's this all about, Dominique? You, in a hospital?'_**

_'It's not the first time I've been to one, thanks to you.' _Dominique replied crossly. She wanted to scream. She was not comfortable with her Vampiric Sister inside of her head, talking lightly when she was less than two days away from death.

**_'I've heard about these fledglings of yours,' _**Satin said casually. **_'I'm impressed. It took you only a century to turn others into Vampires like yourself.'_**

_'You forced me; I saved them. There's a difference, bitch.'_

More than a hundred miles away in her cell, the Vampire known as Satin Sin smiled. Sure, Dominique was strong now, unbelievably so. It had taken her a few failed attempts to get into her head. But Satin was confident that she was stronger. However, these fledglings of Dominique's were to be a problem. With her newfound strength transferred to her new Vampires, these twins were more powerful than they were even aware of. All Satin had to do was get rid of her fledglings and her Sister would crumble at her feet.

Dominique was suddenly filled with a sinking feeling that screamed "Danger!" _'You stay away from them!'_

_**'Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. Maybe they won't live to see tomorrow night. Who knows? Ta-ta, Little Sister. By the way....I do believe the Hunter needs some assistance...'**_

****Dominique was left alone again in her room, trembling with anxiety and nervousness. The Hunter...? Hadn't the Lieutenant just assured her that he was alive? And with Artemis and Apollo alone in the world, without her, they were lambs in the lions' den. Her worries began to get the best of her when she could not pick up on either the twins' or the Hunter's heartbeats. She flopped down on her back and shut her eyes as tight as possible. "Please let me be crazy..." she mumbled. "Artemis and Apollo are fine, the Hunter, while still hating me, is alive, and Satin is an evil conniving bitch." She let out a breath. "Well, that seems about right."

She opened her eyes and squinted them at the ceiling. Had it been blue a minute ago? Dominique sat up and looked around; she saw, with alarm, that entire room had turned! What in Hell's Bells happened? Vampiric power... She recognized the sense of it anywhere. With horror she jumped out of bed and began to bang on the door. It was the type of power that Vampires gave off when they were bringing mortals over! The Hunter was in danger!!

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FND: Having fun yet?


	8. Problems and Prisons

Disclaimer: you know the drill...

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Chapter 8

Problems and Prison

He paced the length of the room slowly, his hands locked together behind his back, a confused expression clouding his features. He had exactly four hours until dawn. How he knew that little bit of information bothered him...

Trunks looked down at his side. He could've sworn that he'd gotten hurt...And now there wasn't even a scratch there. Trunks wondered for a moment where his things were. He didn't like being weaponless in what some considered Vampire territory. His fingers itched for his sword, more for something familiar than for protection. Trunks turned when the door to his hospital room opened. "Anna."

She nodded in greeting and closed the door behind her. He was awake now, perfectly coherent. Anna stared into his puzzled blue eyes and grim features and felt like she would cry. She'd been a doctor for more than sixteen years, and being the bearer of bad news still sucked... "Trunks, I've had your mother committed to the Vampiric Ward downstairs."

He scowled. Vaguely, he remembered what had happened in the cemetery, and he hated it. "Good," he said fiercely, unaware that his hands had curled into fists. "That's where she belongs." Trunks looked back at Anna, saw the pained look on her face. Something tightened in his chest. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Anna sighed. "Honey, sit down." She raised her hand when he opened his mouth to argue. "Please. Just...sit down."

Looking cautious, Trunks settled himself on the edge of the bed, struggling to read her expression. "What?"

Anna took a seat beside him and folded her hands in her lap. How did you break something so horrible gently? "Trunks, sweetheart.... Well... Okay." She took a deep breath, telling herself that she could do this. Her hands fluttered nervously on her lap, wringing. "Honey, what I'm trying to say is, that while you were sick, your mother...You were so out of it, and in so much pain, that she bit you. Trunks, your mother tried to turn you into a Vampire."

Anna looked at him and nearly burst into tears then and there. Not even telling a mother that her newborn was dead compared to the pain of watching the horror on Trunks' face.

"She...tried to...I..." Trunks balanced his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. With a sigh, he dropped them a few moments later and stared at Anna. "Am I a Vampire?" he demanded, cursing the tremor in his voice.

"No, well, technically, you're only half," Anna stammered, feeling despair sinking in with each word. "Jack and I yanked her off of you before the transformation could be completed. But it destroyed your Human blood; your Saiyan blood is fighting back, honey, and that's keeping you from becoming a full Vampire..."

When Anna looked into his eyes and saw welling tears, she stood up and quickly wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, no, honey, it's only temporary, I promise. We're working on something to reverse it, all of the doctors and nurses, we're trying, honey. We won't let you become a Vampire, I swear it."

Blinking back tears angrily, Trunks looked at her. "Can you really promise me that, Anna?"

"I can," she said firmly. "Because I'm going to do it and no one's gonna keep me from making sure that you don't turn into one of those—those _things_."

"But I'm already half of one, Anna!" he protested, pulling away. "Not a single part of me is Human anymore! What am I going to do? How can I hunt Vampires when I'm a Vampire, too?"

"You're not a Vampire!" Anna shouted back, her voice quavering. "I won't let it happen to you, too, dammit!"

His expression softened. It was obvious that she had tried everything in her power to prevent this and had failed; she was devastated, he realized. Trunks felt about three inches tall for yelling at her. She'd helped him, hadn't she? "I'm sorry... Don't cry, Anna..."

She sniffled and wiped her streaming eyes on the sleeve of her white coat, scowling at him. "You just try and stop me!"

Trunks smiled kindly as he gently touched her shoulder. "Okay, okay, I get it...I see that you're trying your hardest, and I'm being ungrateful. I'm sorry, Anna. I just got a little overwhelmed there for a second. But I want to thank you now."

"For what?" she said sullenly, blinking moist eyes at him and frowning. "If you've developed amnesia, let me update you: I didn't do anything. "

He shrugged. "You didn't let me die. That means a lot to me, even if you do it _everyday_ to complete and total strangers."

Anna scowled for a moment before hugging him again. "Sometimes I don't understand you, Trunks....But I guess no one ever does."

Trunks laughed softly and returned the hug. He'd concentrate on making Anna feel better for now—his own emotions would be dealt with later on. "What would I be if I wasn't mysterious?"

"A pain in the ass," Anna answered without a moment's hesitation. "You have to be the most stubborn man alive. Oh, and you'd be frustrating, too. And hardheaded. Do you ever listen to a thing I say? I doubt it; I can tell right now that you're tuning me out, young man. And another thing..."

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"I'm hungry."

"Me, too."

Apollo looked over at his sister. "Am I as pale as you are?"

Artemis opened her gray eyes and stared at him with a mixture of annoyance and desolation. "We're twins, aren't we? Now stop talking... I don't feel good..."

"Me, either...."

"When's Mother coming back?" Artemis murmured, leaning her head against her brother's shoulder.

"I dunno..." Apollo mumbled, resting his cheek on top of her head. They'd commandeered the small apartment from a man that had been leaving on vacation. The place was drafty in the rainy night and did little to keep their minds off their hunger. It'd been almost three days since that night at the graveyard and they hadn't seen their Mother—or fed—since. "I miss her..."

Artemis shifted closer to him and Apollo draped one arm around her. "I'm cold... I'm hungry...I want Mother..." she whimpered, closing her eyes.

"I know, Artemis.... She'll come back." He snuggled against his sister. Artemis was younger by four minutes and Apollo had always fought to protect her. She had a brave front, his twin, and a powerful desire to do the right thing. But Artemis lacked the strength to back it up.

Without Dominique's power to read minds, the twins couldn't tell criminals from victims; they didn't want to kill anyone innocent by mistake. Their powers weren't anywhere near strong enough to withstand the lethargy of blood loss. But Apollo and Artemis were young enough Vampires to feel only the weakness, and not the intense agony of depravation—and for that, they were very lucky.

Artemis opened her gray eyes to stare into the identical ones of her brother. "You think she knows where we are, Apollo?"

"'Course..." Apollo mumbled. The sound of the rain, the blood loss, and the warmth of his sister at his side were lulling him to sleep. "Mother—" He yawned, blinking drowsily. "Mother knows everything..."

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Bulma was pressed back into the corner beside the window, her body as far away as she could possibly get it. "Stop looking at me like that," she ordered, eyeing the room's other occupant.

Dominique had been gazing at her for several hours now, her eyes electric blue and unblinking. Her mouth was curled in a permanent snarl that flashed enough fang to be threatening. She sat in the opposite corner in the bolted chair, her arms wrapped around her legs. "How dare you..."

She held up her hands defensively. "I know what you're thinking, but he was going to die. I was not about to stand there and watch my son fade right in front of me! He's the only family I've got, living or undead. " Bulma curled her knees against her chest, never taking her eyes off of the century-old Vampire across the room. "I did what was best for my son."

"You know it was wrong." Her voice was cold as stone and twice as hard. "If I had known that you planned to convert him, to force him into becoming what he hated, I never would have gone with you." Her teeth were startlingly white in the darkness. "And you knew it."

"That's not the point. My son's life is hell; he's never had the chance to be a kid, to be young. He's always had to save the world. I was just trying, for once, to save _him_." Bulma rested her chin atop her knees. "You haven't been there. You haven't seen him come home with a blank look in his eyes, covered in blood. When he was just fourteen years old, he arrived home, beaten and bruised, and carrying the body of his best friend and mentor." She shuddered at the memory. "Something in my little boy died that day. And you weren't there to see it." The blue in her eyes seemed to brighten until they were almost shining. "So don't you tell me that what I did was wrong. He deserved some peace, something to ease his pain." She smiled and it was triumphant. "And what ends all pain but undeath?"

Dominique did not blink. "You need to be staked. You need to be shoved into sunlight. You need to have your head severed from your neck. You need to have your heart torn from your chest and burned."

Her smile chilled several degrees. It was all she could do; Dominique's aura, dark with malice, was pulsing all around her. She was too young, far too young, to be able to fight back. "Thank you. Now I know how you really feel."

"How I really feel..." she repeated. "You don't have the slightest idea how I feel. If you really want to know, perhaps I should oblige you..."

Suddenly, Bulma couldn't get enough air. Dominique's aura had turned hot, boxing her in, suffocating her. Everything around her throbbed anger, hate, wishing her pain, causing her pain... Her skin burned as if hundreds of fire ants were biting her all over her body. She curled into a ball, whimpering, weeping. "Stop...Make it stop..." she begged. "No more..."

Dominique's eyes slid from bright blue to almost clear. They looked like blazing ice, nearly invisible. "No. It won't stop. It won't stop until I don't hate you anymore. And I don't think that's going to happen any time this millennium. Get used to pain, Mrs. Briefs. You're going to be feeling it for a long, long time."

Someone knocked on the steel door. Dominique's eyes left her victim to stare at the cold metal. She lowered her aura considerably when she sensed a mortal on the other side. The intensity of her power would slowly smother them while snapping their bones. She couldn't do that to a stranger...it would be rude. "What?"

"Miss Kellis? It's me, Jack Kennedy. Can I come in? We have a problem and you and I need to talk."

Her eyes bled back to emerald. "Come in, Lieutenant Kennedy. I had a feeling you would drop by sooner or late." Her gaze flew to Bulma, shivering and sobbing in the corner as the door opened. "You'll have to forgive the noise; some people just don't know when to shut up."

Kennedy closed the door and dipped his hands in his pockets, eyeing Bulma with intense dislike. Whatever Dominique was doing to her was nothing compared what he would've liked to do... He cleared his throat and looked at the Vampire in front of him. "Miss Kellis, I'm sure you are aware of Trunks' condition?"

She nodded, looking ever so much the part of the polite hostess. "His body has healed very well, no lasting scars or wounds. And from what I have heard, he is not very pleased with his...transformation."

Kennedy smiled ruefully. Not pleased was an understatement. "He's been cursing ever since. But down to business, Miss Kellis... As a halfling, Trunks may have to feed. He can't go alone and..." He glanced at Bulma. "Out of the five Vampires in existence, you're the best choice."

"You want me to train him to feed?" Dominique leaned closer. She had to be very clear on this... "You want me—a Vampire—to train _the_ Hunter—nightmare of all the undead—how to hunt? Mortals. To hunt mortals?"

Kennedy realized how dangerous it sounded out loud, "I know it doesn't sound like a good idea; it's our last resort, and I just wanted to let you know. The hospital is going to keep him for a few days' observation. If Mr. Briefs does well on his own, then he'll be released. But if he starts to..." He waved his hand, searching obscurely for the right word.

Dominique offered, "Withdraw, Lieutenant. I believe the term you're looking for is 'withdraw'."

He smiled wanly at her. Dominique Kellis had such a way with words. "Yes... Thanks. If he starts to withdraw, both of you will be released right away to hunt."

Dominique nodded. For some reason, she liked the sound of that... "If I'm lucky I should make it to Satin's execution after all. Goody."

Kennedy chuckled weakly. "Have I told you how morbid you are?"

She nodded. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Kennedy, I was in the middle of something very entertaining when you stopped by." She tilted her head to one side and smiled. "I'd invite you to stay and watch, but you might end up drained of all blood, your skin torn from your body and your bones melted into a very sticky goo. And unless you're willing to risk that..."

He shook his head. "No, no, thank you. I'll be going now." He nodded his head at Dominique. "Miss Kellis." His eyes slid and locked on the whimpering Bulma. Kennedy grunted his goodbye to her. It was in his breeding to be polite to people, no matter how much you despised them. Kennedy shook his head again and left the room, bolting the door behind him.

As soon as the door closed, Dominique whirled back to Bulma, her eyes flaring immediately to icy blue. "Now...where were we?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The intern nibbled her lip worriedly. "I don't want to do it," she moaned, struggling to dig her feet in the concrete floor.

Her supervisor frowned and pushed her harder. "All interns must have at least one interface with a Vampire before they're classified as employees, Jenna." His voice became gentle. "This one's harmless, I promise."

Moisture prickled the corners of her blue eyes as she was edged closer to the cell. "I'll do graveyard shift security for the rest of my internship, just don't make me go in there, Matthew, please."

Matthew sighed angrily. "Jenna, stop this. This is the easiest of the tasks dealing with the Vampires. You should consider yourself lucky; Mandy had to give one his last meal a few weeks ago."

Her heart hammered in her chest. "Matt..." she begged.

"Jenna, I won't hear another word about it. Go in there and stop this foolishness." He unlocked the door to the cell and held it open, eyeing her pointedly.

Jenna sniffled, clutching her clipboard against her chest. What did interviewing Vampires have to do with being a prison guard? The nineteen-year-old intern nervously stepped through the spellbound gate and nearly jumped out of her skin when Matthew slammed and locked the door behind her.

The room looked nothing like a jail cell. In fact, it was as elegant as the presidential suite in a very glamorous hotel. The walls were painted a dark red and decorated with copies of famous paintings. A bowl of crimson roses sat in a crystalline vase from some ancient century on a carved table just as old.

The walls flickered in the bright glow of candlelight; there weren't any windows on this whole floor. In one corner was a bed fitting for royalty. Silken black curtains hung from its massive canopy, hiding a thick, soft mattress covered with velvety sheets and pillows like clouds.

In the center of the room stood a lavish crimson loveseat and a few chairs. In the center of the loveseat sat Satin Sin.

Jenna wanted to balk the moment she laid eyes on the woman.

She was thumbing through a book, looking a bit bored. She was draped gracefully across the couch, dressed in a comfortable silken nightgown that had a low neckline and cut just below her thighs. The blood depravation she had suffered through the last few days did not seem to have affected her, and the warded shackles on her ankles didn't seem to faze her. "Please. Do come in," she said without looking up.

Jenna swallowed hard, her fingers locked painfully around the clipboard. Harmless, she reminded herself over and over again. "Good evening, Miss Sinclair," she said a little shakily.

Satin raised her golden eyes and smiled as she set her book aside. Fear, she noticed with dark delight, was shimmering off this girl in waves. "Welcome, Jenna. I've been expecting you for some time now."

That smile made Jenna consider turning around and running away, screaming. Instead, she took a seat across from Satin and tried to look professional. She had studied Vampires for a few years in high school, but nothing could have prepared her to meet one face-to-face—especially a Vampire like Satin Sin.

Jenna uncapped her pen and kept her eyes focused on the forms in front of her, thinking about how good it would feel once she had passed Matthew's little test. "According to these court papers, you're due for execution tomorrow, Miss Sinclair."

She reclined back against the cushions, smiling sweetly. The perfect picture of harmlessness... "Please. Call me Satin."

Jenna's fingers tightened on her pen as she plowed on, ignoring her. "I'm here to go over these with you. Are you aware of the charges brought against you, Miss Sinclair?"

Satin chuckled quietly to herself. Charges? No...they were more like accomplishments. "Yes, I am."

"There are over four hundred counts of manslaughter, first-and-second degree murder, and attempted murder. You've also been convicted of murdering a family of witches under government protection, converting an unwilling child, and draining hundreds of mortals dry—the number of which is still debatable. You are sentenced to death, though the method is still undecided."

Jenna kept talking. The more she kept talking, the less time she would have to spend in the room. She was painfully aware of the immortal being directly across from her and that Satin's dining preferences included the very blood that ran through her own veins. Jenna cursed her trembling hands. "Staking, holy water, and beheading are the conventional methods. However, the judge is pushing for burning."

"Burning?" Satin repeated, arching her dark brows. "In the sunlight?"

Jenna checked her notes. "Yes, Miss Sinclair. Judge Proctor is very vehement—" Jenna's head snapped up when Satin started to laugh, full and rich. She watched with wide eyes as the Vampiress laughed and laughed before she slowly calmed, snickering.

Satin sighed when she could control her humor, smiling. "Proctor, you say? Now I remember him, that bitter old crow. I met him when he was just a bratty teenager, sulking and cursing as all mortal offspring do. I gave him a reason to sulk," she smirked, her ocher eyes glinting in the candlelight. "He's got it out for me ever since I visited his home one night some years ago. Isn't that what your government calls 'conflict of interest'?" she wondered.

"I'm not sure," Jenna replied, keeping her eyes on the clipboard. If she kept herself calm, showed that she wasn't afraid, maybe she would leave the room alive. "As I was saying, Judge Proctor is pushing for you to die by exposure to sunlight. The method won't be decided until around tomorrow morning. That covers your charges and your reasons for being here. Next on the agenda is..." She nearly choked on the words. "What do you want for your last meal, Miss Sinclair?"

She stretched lazily. "Last meal indeed... How humorous to know they still use that old line even in this century." Satin gave Jenna a languid glance. "What are my options?"

"It's not like you can eat much else besides blood," Jenna muttered without thinking. She realized instantly what she'd said and held her breath. Fear iced her veins as she warily raised her eyes.

Satin had straightened and was motionless against the scarlet velvet, using the stillness only the ancient Vampires were capable of possessing. Her eyes were molten gold and piercing. But the scariest thing of all was her smile. That slow, cat-like smile that enticed while it frightened. "You're absolutely correct, Jenna," she said with a sultry laugh. "My choices are...limited."

Jenna tried to get to her feet and found, with terror, that she couldn't move. Her clipboard fell to the floor. "Miss Sinclair, I really have to be going now."

Satin continued to smile. "So soon, Jenna? No. I insist you stay for a little bit longer." Her smile darkened into a smirk and her eyes glittered. "Keep me company, little Jenna, won't you?"

She couldn't keep the alarm out of her voice. "I can't. I...I have to go check in at the security station, Miss Sinclair. I'll get right on placing your order for your last meal, so you can have it as soon as possible."

Satin absently tossed her curtain of hair over her shoulder, not taking her eyes away for a second. "As soon as possible..." she repeated smoothly. "It will take you some time, won't it, before you're given clearance and approval? It would save a lot more time, little Jenna, to simply have my meal right now."

Jenna struggled against the invisible bonds securing her in place. Panic welled in the back of her throat thick enough to choke her. She was going to die in here. "Let me go! Please, let me go," she cried, hysteria patent. "Help!!"

A look of mild disapproval crossed Satin's features. "Ah, ah, ah—none of that screaming," she said and snapped her fingers.

Jenna's cries cut off abruptly, her mouth open in an unspoken scream. She wriggled and kicked in vain. Her arms remained bolted at her sides and her body glued to the chair no matter how hard she fought. Tears streamed down her face.

Harmless, she chanted in her head. Harmless, harmless, harmless...She was harmless...

Satin watched, entertained. She crossed her legs at the ankles and folded her hands on her lap, smiling beautifully. "You're hurting my feelings, little Jenna," she crooned with mock distress. "Don't you want to keep me company?"

The young woman bent over, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs as she shook her head fervidly.

"No?" Satin's grin displayed fang. "It's so terribly, terribly sad that you don't have a choice in the matter."

Jenna's mind raced. How to vanquish a Vampire? Holy water, sunlight, garlic, crosses, prayer...That's it!

Satin raised an elegant brow at the rapid movement of Jenna's silent lips. "Oh, you poor, ignorant thing... Prayers have to be _said_ in order to have effect." She laughed cruelly, delighted at the look of stark terror and helplessness in Jenna's eyes when the girl looked up. "Another thing: what kind of Vampires would we be if we could be defeated by the likes of garlic?"

Satin leaned forward to read Jenna's lips as she sobbed mutely. "No, you're not going to die. Why kill such an intelligent young woman who has the potential you do? You would do well with a bit of guidance, little Jenna. You might even make a somewhat decent Vampire."

If Jenna had been pale before, she was as white as a sheet now. Cold sweat dripped down her neck and back. Her eyes were wide with tears and horror. She was hyperventilating, her chest heaving. She shook her head again and again until it seemed like she would never stop. Jenna looked as if she would protest for all eternity.

All her dreams of working as a prison guard, of keeping people safe were fading fast. She was never going to see her family again. The money her parents had slaved for to send her to college was going to be wasted. She was going to die at the hands of a sadist.

"Sadist? That's so very rude of you, Jenna. I like to think of myself as a lover of the deadly arts." Satin slid to her feet in one fluid motion. and crossed to her prisoner. She cocked her head at the insult the teen mouthed and frowned slightly. "How foul." Satin drew back her hand and slapped Jenna full in the face.

Jenna crumpled to the floor, blood dripping from her mouth. She astonished herself by whimpering in pain. "Fucking bitch," she groaned around a mouthful of carpet. She still couldn't move, but that didn't mean she couldn't scream.

And scream she did. Jenna screamed at the top of her lungs and without drawing breath. She screamed and screamed until her throat was raw.

Satin frowned down at her, annoyed. "Now you've gone and ruined the ambience," she pouted. "Oh, well. There's nothing I can do about it." She straddled Jenna's back and yanked her head back by her blond hair. Satin bent her head and unsheathed her fangs.

Jenna went silent as Satin struck, her blue eyes wide at the instant unspeakable pain. Her body jerked and began to shake violently.

Satin smiled to herself as she drank eagerly. Jenna's blood was deliciously sweetened with fear. Satin fed leisurely—it'd been a while since she'd had an uninterrupted meal...

After a while, Jenna's body temperature began to cool. The blood flow began to thin and she had stopped twitching. Her blue eyes stared blankly at nothing.

Satin reined her hunger in and sat back on her heels, daintily wiping blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. She made a sound of approval as she ran her tongue over her fangs. Jenna tasted better than she had thought...

She glanced down at the near-corpse and flipped Jenna onto her back. Satin opened the first few buttons of the intern's blouse, exposing chilling white flesh. Drawing her nail smartly across Jenna's chest, she slashed an 'X' over the girl's heart, a sign of ownership and part of a ritual. The wound barely bled.

When that was done, she bit into her own wrist and dripped blood into Jenna's mouth. Satin watched her gash heal and then sat back to observe the transformation.

It took place subtly, much to her disappointment. Jenna gasped for air, kicked for a few moments, before stilling. Satin planted her chin on her fist, scowling. She'd expected more violence than this... She watched Jenna's blue eyes begin to clear, heard her frantic heartbeat, sensed the change in aura—and was enraged.

"This is it?" Satin seethed between her teeth, her eyes flickering between gold and blue. "She was stronger as a mortal," she said, thoroughly disgusted.

Jenna lay on the floor, motionless. Her eyes darted around, frenzied and panicked. She let out an incoherent scream, scrambling from the floor.

"Calm yourself," Satin said sharply, flopping back down onto the loveseat.

The new Vampire was hyperventilating, disoriented. "Wh...Huh? Where...?"

Satin caught her by the end of her hair and yanked her backwards. Jenna crumpled at her feet. "I said to calm yourself," Satin snapped as she released Jenna, her voice like a velvet whip.

Jenna was rocking back and forth slowly, staring at her with ghostly eyes. She had ceased being Jenna.

Satin was annoyed, and the room thrummed with her aggravation. "I seek to create a Vampire, and _this_ is what I get?" Satin had slit the girl's chest to initiate the Severed ritual. She had stripped Jenna of her memories, her humanity—Satin hadn't meant to strip her of her sense.

She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring as she turned her fiery eyes onto the creature that was once Jenna. "I am Satin Sin. Do you know who you are?"

The Vampire screamed in response and Satin struck her.

"Enough," she said coldly, eyes flaring cobalt. "I will not tolerate any foolishness from you. I gave you life and I will snatch it away just as easily should you give me a reason. Do you understand?"

She nodded, weeping.

"Your name is Livvy," Satin told the Vampire. "On account of how livid I am at this failure. You are to do what I say, when I say. There will be no excuses, no delays. Otherwise I will kill you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress Satin..." Livvy whispered, blinking teary blue eyes up at her.

This was nothing like Dominique's transformation, Satin recalled with annoyance. There was no...spark. This one was too easy to mold, to control. It took all the fun out of being forceful. Well, there was nothing she could do about it, and beggars couldn't be choosers. "Come here, Livvy. You and I are going to get out of here. Here's what we're going to do..."

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FND: Yay...


	9. Specialty Surprises

I am a horrible, horrible person... (sigh) I'm so, so sorry for not updating as I should have. I don't really have an excuse for it, but I'm doing it now!! I absolutely REFUSE to have a gap like I did before. I'm working on it now. Sorry again, guys.

ForeverNDarkness

* * *

Chapter 9

_Specialty Surprises

* * *

_

**_"...leaving firefighters to rescue the cat from the tree. I hope that kitty learns next time, that trees are for the birds."_**

The glow from the TV was the only source of light in the entire house, flickering whiteness and shadows on the walls of the comfortably cluttered living room. The sole occupant of aforementioned bedroom—indeed, the sole occupant of the house—was draped gracefully in an armchair, her long legs dangling over the sides and her hands clasped loosely over her stomach.

Her face was tilted back, her fair hair loose around her shoulders and her expression calm. She was "on leave for personal reasons"; nothing could dredge her from the depths of her apathy and darker feelings. She'd received no calls, accepted no visitors.

_If I wanted them, I probably shouldn't have unplugged the phone..._ she reasoned.

After a moment, she opened one blue-gray eye, observed the painfully bright screen for a moment, and closed it again, deigning that the newscaster with his corny jokes was not worth her attention.

"_**...that's what I said, Karen. I was hoping that thunderstorm would pass us by, too. It seemed like such nice we—oh. This just in, ladies and gentlemen, breaking news. I've just been handed a report t-that...dear God. There's been a riot at North City Penitentiary. There have been one hundred deaths confirmed, thirty escapes, and..."** _The anchorman's voice was shaking horribly, all traces of amusement from earlier gone as he read the rest of the report.

A sardonic smile curved her lips as she opened her eyes. _Well, well... Looks like I have work, after all. _The woman swung herself around to stand on her feet, stretching her arms over her head. She tugged on a pair of jeans and curled her fingers around the hilt of one of her weapons just as her cell phone rang.

She glanced over, a snow-white brow arched in curiosity. _No one knows that number... _She flicked her cell open and waited silently.

"I know you're there, Silesia," the voice on the other end announced. "Now say something. If you're awake, then you've seen the news and that means you have to get off your butt!"

"I _am_ off my butt, Aradia." She smirked at the bite in her mentor's tone. "I'm surprised someone your age can manage to stay up this late."

"I was sealing demons later than this before your _mother_ was out of diapers!" the old woman spat furiously. "I have no time for your games, Silesia! You're needed."

"Right, right, I get it." She pinned the phone between her ear and shoulder as she stuffed her arms into the sleeves of her denim jacket. "Go put a hole in the big bad Vampire and maybe have a little breakfast after before a long nap."

Instead of screaming at her as Silesia expected, Aradia was quiet when she spoke next. "Silesia... this is serious. You have to go to Angel of Mercy in West City _now_. All your training has been for this."

Her smile faded. Solemn, she nodded. If her training was about to come into effect, things were about to get very, _very_ ugly. "Understood, Aradia. Now let's hear all the info you have on who I'm working on."

* * *

"...a specialist?" Trunks blinked groggily up at Anna from his prone position. "What kind of specialist?"

She frowned anxiously down at him. He was curled in a twitching ball. "Honey...please get off the floor," she implored. "You're making me nervous. You haven't moved. This is exactly the same position I left you in four hours ago."

"No energy," he murmured and returned his cheek to its spot on the icy tiled floor. "M'tired."

Anna crouched down and ran a hand over his damp, matted hair, making a soft understanding noise. "I know... Are you hungry?"

He twitched uncomfortably, ducking away from her touch. Just the thought of food made his stomach threaten a violent revolt. "I don't want anything now, Anna. I think I'd throw it up."

"No, Trunks..." Anna chose her words very carefully. "I'm not asking if you're hungry for _food_." The look he flashed her made her lean away, startled by the inhuman fire that lit his eyes. "All right, all right, I won't ask again...but you're awfully weak, honey."

He glared at her and pushed himself up to challenge her. And he would have, had the room not chosen to spin sickeningly.

Anna took his arm when he swayed, forced him to lean on her. "I _knew _it," she said grimly. "Trunks, sweetheart, why didn't you say anything? You could kill yourself this way!"

He scowled, but the trembling in his body softened it into something pitifully defiant. "Maybe that's for the best," he told her sternly.

"Over my cold lifeless _corpse_!" Anna argued firmly. "I'll be damned if I'm going to sit here and watch you suffer like this!" She ground her teeth together as he regained his composure. "We have to go with Plan B, but I don't like it."

"You don't have to, Anna," Kennedy murmured from the threshold. His expression was worn, his clothes rumpled and his face unshaven. He looked as if he'd aged ten years in two days. "Even if you don't like it, it's what's best for him right now." Kennedy crossed the room to kneel down and help Trunks into a chair, bracing him as he steadied himself. "You okay there, Mr. Briefs?"

Trunks bent over, cradling his aching head in his hands. "No."

"Who knows what that damn harpy'll do to him?" Anna glared at Jack. "We have blood downstairs, we don't need to put him in her claws!"

"That's _synthetic_ and it won't sustain him for long. In a day, maybe two, we'd be right back here." He softened his tone, gentle logic. "Look at him. He's miserable, Anna. Why are you going to make him suffer more?"

Anna pursed her lips, stuffing her fists into the pockets of her coat as she turned away. "...I don't want him to get hurt, Jack. I don't care what good things she's done, what sacrifices she's made..." Her eyes flickered to Kennedy. "Dominique Kellis is still a Vampire and _nothing_ will ever make me trust her, specialist or no."

"You don't have to," Kennedy repeated, straightening. "This is for Mr. Briefs' benefit, not yours. You're not the one suffering like he is. He needs something we can't give him, Anna. Besides... that's _why_ we have our specialist, to keep things in check."

"Stop saying specialist."

Anna and Kennedy stopped fighting instantly, turning their attention to him. He had his elbows balanced on his knees and his fingers tangled in his matted hair. "Trunks—"

"No." His voice, soft and hoarse, was firm nonetheless. "You're talking around me, like I'm a cancer patient whose last batch of tests just came back. I'm here." He lifted his head, his tired blue eyes, and gazed at them. "I'm here and I can hear you. Who is this specialist you keep mentioning?"

Kennedy hesitated before dropping a hand on Trunks' shoulder. "We should leave the introductions up to her, Mr. Briefs." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "She'll probably get annoyed with us if we spoil her big entrance." He turned, gave Anna a pointed stare. "Dr. Kinaki, would you be so helpful as to help Miss Kellis get ready for their little outing?"

The look in Anna's eyes would've out-frosted a glacier. She set her teeth, let out a calming breath. "Of course, Lieutenant. I'll meet you at the western emergency exit."

The men watched her go and Kennedy shuddered when the door closed with a careful_ click_. "You do know you're dead meat," Trunks offered softly. "Don't you?"

"Yeah." Kennedy sighed and rubbed a hand over the gooseflesh prickling at the nape of his neck. He couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was about Anna that was beginning to concern him, but it had nothing to do with her revenge—which would undoubtedly come. "I know."

* * *

"_Where are you?"_

_She was hiding. She was hiding beneath the feast table in the empty southern hall, distant enough from the raucous entertainment down in the northern hall without being too far to find her chambers when she would retire._

_They were calling her by her name, whomever it was that sought her out. But she would not answer. She never _did _answer when called by her given name, save when she was summoned before _Máthair _and _Athair

_The voice was soft, songlike. A game. "Where are you?"_

_She went by _Móirne_, the name her favorite sister had given her. It meant great. Tuathla called her Móirne_ _because no one else believed she could accomplish great things... No one believed a fourth daughter could do _anything

_It was so dark beneath the table. There was only a sliver of light, just at her toes, from the heavy silk cloth. In the weak lighting, she could barely see the leather soft-soled slippers on her feet. The sight of the slippers, with their thick linen stitching, made her tiny lips curl in a faint smile. _Máthair_ hated those slippers and scolded her whenever she wore them. She said they were for _fuidir_, lower class and not fit for her dogs._

_But Móirne loved them, much more than those horridly tight shoes _Máthair _made her wear to feasts—the shoes she'd taken off and hidden early on. She also hated the wretched, suffocating dresses _Máthair _also insisted she wear. The dressmakers made her stand still for a long, long time and sometimes they pricked her with the needles if she moved too much. They made the dresses too tight, so tight she could never breathe._

_But _Máthair _said the dresses helped to build a figure, like her sisters'._

_Her mouth screwed up in frustration. Orla and Ríona__and Tuathla__were all ladies now, beautiful women of the court. They were all shadowed by handsome, love-struck men and 'burdened' with layers of silk, gold, and jewels from _Máthair. _Only Tuathla, the eldest, did not consider herself a gorgeous goddess—not like Orla and Ríona did, but they were silly and addlebrained. Her sisters were the ones who were supposed to have figures. But she was only a little girl. She didn't need or want a figure yet. Having a figure meant that men wanted you to have babies with them._

_She curled tighter in her hiding spot, her arms wrapped firmly around her legs as her eyes narrowed. She remembered last year when a man had come for Tuathla and told _Máthair _and _Athair _that he wanted to make her his wife and she would bear him an heir. Tuathla said no. _Máthair _said yes, because the man was handsome and wealthy and would pay a hefty...what was the word? Dowry. He would pay a hefty dowry for Tuathla._

_Móirne closed her eyes and shook her head. It had not mattered to her that Lord Fallon was handsome and rich. She didn't like him—his eyes were dark and very scary and he watched Móirne like he watched Tuathla, as if she was the last sweetmeat on a plate—and Tuathla did not like him either._

_Despite the slowly changing times, she had learned that a woman's feelings and heart still went ignored. Móirne had attended Tuathla's wedding, had stood at the front of the cathedral with her, and seen her beloved sister weep on what was to be her happiest day._

_Tuathla did not smile anymore. Not even when she came for Yule and brought Conchobhar, a strange little baby with Tuathla's eyes and Fallon's red hair. Fallon flirted with the ladies and Móirne saw him leave for a bedchamber with one of _Máthair_'s maids. Tuathla's pretty grey eyes were empty now, soulless._

_That was what happened when you wore the dresses. You grew a figure. You married and gave heirs. You belonged to men._

_Men stole your souls._

_Móirne liked her soul right where it was. And that was why she was not at the feast. It was her favorite holiday, Yuletide, but she was not happy. _Máthair _made her cry by calling her a boy again. She was so 'uncouth', _Máthair _would sigh. So unrefined. _Athair _didn't like when _Máthair _called her names or ignored her. It was new, this cruelty, ever since Tuathla was wed. But _Athair _was not there tonight and he could do nothing. He was with..._

_...with the woman. There was a woman, a pretty woman. _Máthair _spoke of her often when she was angry with _Athair_. The woman took _Athair _away for long amount of time but _Athair _was happy with her. She was a...what was the word?_

_Mistress._

_She was _Athair_'s_ _mistress and she had written _Athair _to say that she had given birth to a baby a fortnight ago, a son for _Athair_. That was why he was gone for Móirne_ _on this Yule. _Athair _was gone to see his heir, a joyous smile on his face that she had never seen. The son he never had. It was why she was alone now..._

"_Where are you?"_

_The softest rustling of silk. Flickering torchlight filled the darkness beneath the table and had her blinking open her eyes._

_For a long moment, the world went silent._

_It was a woman, a woman she had never seen before—no, no, wait. She squinted, her mind working swiftly. Once. She had seen her once on the street markets, when she had run from her nurse in the market._

_But she didn't remember her being so...beautiful._

_She had lifted up the heavy cloth of the table and was gazing inside. For all the world, she looked as if she could be Móirne's mother. Her hair was a cascade of black waves that tumbled around her shoulders, complimenting the smooth red satin gown she was draped in. The woman's skin as unearthly fair as hers. The only difference was... but oh, what a difference._

_The stunning woman's eyes were startling amber and glittering like a cat's as she smiled faintly at her._

_Móirne stared up into beauty and was seized with sudden, violent fear._

"_Why, Lady... I am sure that you heard me calling you." That voice. She knew that silken, low voice, had heard it before when the woman had stopped her in the market. It was the voice of an angel. "It's rude to ignore someone looking for you."_

"_You did not call me by the right name."_

"_Hmm?" A twinkle in her eyes. "I called you by your name. You are Lady Rain Marie, aren't you?"_

"_I don't like that name."_

_She made a soft, understanding noise. "I know what it is to be named something you wish to change. Perhaps I will help you..." The woman extended a dainty, slim-fingered hand, smiled again. "Come with me, little one. I have something to show you. This will teach you something very important."_

_Móirne hesitated and took her hand._

"_To change your name," the woman explained gently as she led Móirne from the hall and down the corridor, back towards the feast, "you must change yourself. As you are too young, little one, to change yourself, I will do it for you."_

_She frowned. "Change...myself?" They were at the great double doors to the southwestern hall now, and absently, she realized it was far too quiet. "I do not think I wish to change myself, my lady. I do not wish for you to do it either."_

_The woman blinked down at her and her smile widened into something almost feral. "Ah, but you should have told me sooner, Rain Marie." She opened the door to the massive great hall. "Then I would not have had to pay a visit to your mother."_

_She turned away from the woman, to stare into the hall, and into the blood._

* * *

"_Máthair..."_

Her hands fisted in the sheets, her knuckles white with the strain. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as she lay in the sleep that was not sleep. A self-induced state to help her rest at night. Still...sleep was sleep, and in sleep came something far worse than nightmares—memories. She whimpered softly, curled tighter into herself. _"Maith dom."_

_Forgive me._

Tumblers clicked in the door's locking mechanism and her eyes flew open, blinding and blazing blue, as for a moment, she hung trapped in the world between dreams and waking.

The door creaked ever so slightly when it opened. Dim light flooded in, a woman's shadow on the floor. An irrational fear gripped her but a second, before her senses returned and she discovered her visitor was Human.

Wonderful.

She made no move to sit up or greet the newcomer, only gazing at her from her bed with inhuman eyes as the figure moved ever closer. _Ah... _she observed calmly. _The doctor. Brave woman. _

Anna stared down at her with something too cold to be hatred. "Get up."

"No 'hello'?" the Vampire murmured, her voice husky with sleep. "No 'how was your day'? Come now, I'm sure you have plenty of manners." Her blue eyes focused on the bulges in the deep pockets of the doctor's white coat, narrowed when she ascertained that they weren't tools of the trade. "On second thought..." She sat up slowly, carefully, her senses sharp. "I think I prefer no pleasantries, because I have a feeling, Doc, that things are about to be very _un_pleasant."

Anna was unmoved, her hands in her pockets. "No one could ever label you stupid," she said softly.

_There's fear here. _Dominique tilted her head, her eyes still narrowed in study. _Her heart is pounding so quickly..._ "Was that a compliment, Doc?"

"A fact." Anna was at the very edge of the bed, less than two feet away. "Trunks isn't doing well."

"It's been a few days now, hasn't it?" She sat back on her haunches, unabashed by the fact that she wore only tattered stained bandages and too-big sweatpants. The bandages hadn't been changed in days, possibly due to her well-earned reputation for being a biter. The skin had healed and mended so there were no wounds to annoy her, but it was quite irritating—and painful—when skin healed over a bandage and she had to pull it out again. "If it's only hitting him now, then I say he's done quite well. But, if he was okay..." She glanced up into Anna's face. "...well, then you wouldn't be in here. So I take it that means a-hunting we will go?"

"You and Trunks will be released for the night, yes." The words were bitter on her tongue. "On a few conditions."

"Conditions?" Dominique stared hard at her, allowing her eyes to bleed back to green. "What kind of conditions, Doc?"

"_My_ conditions. The first is that _you_ don't feed."

"Hmm." Dominique eyed her. "Is that your Human paranoia rearing its bigoted head or are you generally concerned I might get my strength back?"

The doctor scowled at her. "My conditions, Miss Kellis, are nonnegotiable. You follow them or you stay here."

She lifted one shoulder and dropped it in a halfhearted shrug. "Whatever you say, Doc. No feeding. I'm not that hungry anyway." The appetite for blood inside her snarled viciously at the denial, but she was used to subduing it. A little blood withdrawal was nothing compared to self-loathing. "Any more conditions?"

Anna took her hand out of her pocket and brought with it a metallic coil. Calmly, she unraveled it, revealing a few lights and two clasps for connection. "Stand up and lift your arms above your head."

Dominique didn't move. "Why?" she demanded.

Her voice was clipped, dead. "This is a tracking device, specifically engineered to locate non-Humans wherever they may be. If you're taking my boy out of here, I'll damn sure know where you go." She gestured with the device. "Arms up."

_There's a lie in there somewhere. I can smell it. _Slowly, the Vampire got to her feet and lifted her arms above her head. It was the only way she was getting out of here. She watched Anna as she unwound her bandages, exposing flesh scarred from old wounds. The device was wrapped once around her body against her bare skin and locked neatly just beneath her breasts. When Anna stepped back, she fingered the cold ring cautiously. She had seen something of this nature before, and it had not boded well for her. "What does this do?" she wanted to know.

Anna said nothing, simply dipping into her other pocket. She pulled out a small box, set with a gauge, a dial, and a button. A controller.

Dominique's eyes widened a split second before Anna pushed the button. _I knew it. _The device beeped, tightened, and flooded her nervous system with hundreds of volts of electricity.

Anna watched her convulse, blind eyes fiery blue and wide, before she reluctantly took her finger from the button. Her expression was impassive as she watched Dominique slump to the floor, gasping and unblinking as she twitched on the cracked tile. "What does it do?" she repeated casually. "Well...it does that."

She crouched down beside the convalescing Vampire, her tone conversational as she watched the circle of severe burns heal without a mark. "It's called, coincidentally, a Vamp Zapper, and that was a very low setting, Miss Kellis. It goes much higher. It goes high enough to burn into that blackened, shriveled monstrosity you call a heart. If one hair is missing on his head, _one_ _hair_... then kiss your ass goodbye. Because I don't like you. I don't like you at all. And sometimes not liking someone can make your fingers a little... twitchy. Do we have an understanding, Miss Kellis?"

Dominique's eyes were slowly beginning to focus again. She turned them to Anna's face, gazed at her intently, even as Anna rerouted her eyes to stare at the other woman's shoulder. "Got a question..." she whispered hoarsely, "...for ya, Doc..." She braced one shaky arm on the floor, struggled to prop herself up. "If a patient has cancer... do you dislike him, too?"

Anna pulled back slightly, frowning. "What are you talking about?" she demanded.

The Vampire crawled to her knees, taking slow and even breaths. "What I'm talking about...is your dislike...of people with things wrong...that they couldn't help."

Anna's mouth curled into a snarl as she shoved herself to her feet. "Oh, no," she hissed, furious at her audacity, at her _nerve_—at the guilt that had spiked through her system. "You don't get to play the victim. You don't get to play the martyr, you _bitch! _Not after all you've done! You got away with murder without a penalty and you just asked for it!"

"Don't get me wrong, I've asked for things. Can't help it; I've kinda got that sorta personality. One that brings out the worse in people..." Dominique braced her hands on her knees and got to her feet. A bit shaky but standing, she touched the VZ around her middle again and chuckled wryly. "As demonstrated, I guess...but living off Human blood to survive was never on my list to Santa." There was only the faintest current of bitterness in her tone.

Anna dimly realized her nails were biting into her palms and she was starting to shake. _No! _her mind revolted. _There is no pity for her! Just like there was no pity for the Atkins family, for the lives she destroyed! Vampires like her don't get pity—they get staked in the heart. _

Dominique lowered her lashes. So many people forgot their thoughts were accessible reading material. _Vampires like me?_ she repeated in her mind, rolling the idea over in her head. _Hmm. Interesting notion. Never thought I defined a section of my race._ "Doc. If you want me to take the Hunter out, I'm going to need a shirt." She lifted a dark brow, gestured to her semi-nudity when Anna's attention returned to her. "I'm really comfortable with my body. I don't think anyone else is."

"We don't have any extra clothes." Anna folded her arms, concentrating hard on calming down. She wouldn't let Dominique rattle her. No, she wouldn't let this demon shake her for being the responsible, objective doctor she was known for. Not anymore than she already had. "Any available clothing that we had went to the shelters or the rebuilding families." Her eyes trailed over the Vampire indolently. Well, she couldn't very well let her stroll out of her hospital like _that_...

Dominique blinked slowly when Anna shrugged out of her white coat and shoved it into her arms. She glanced down at the long coat she held and looked back at Anna. "This is yours."

"I know that," Anna said frostily. "Put it on."

_Doc wears turtlenecks_, she noticed as she obeyed warily. _Prone to cold or Vamp preventive measure? _When it was on, she realized it was too big. "Must be losing weight," Dominique mused aloud, examining the coat that was nearly double her size.

Anna said nothing as she stepped closer and taking both lapels of her lab coat, lapped them over one another. Taking the material in one hand, Anna unhooked a safety pin from a belt loop of her slacks where she kept them handy and pinned the material tightly in place. Anna pulled back to study her work.

The coat _was_ too big on her, but she looked decent now. Since it was so taut, the now shapely coat looked—how was this possible?—doubly feminine and sensual. Anna shook her head. _Only a Vampire could make a doctor's coat look like lingerie. _"There."

Dominique was watching her again. "Applying for sainthood, Doc?" she asked stonily, flashing a hint of fang. This woman was confusing. "Being nice to the poor damned girl. That's adorable. But sorry, I think you get disqualified for electrocuting me in the first place. Better luck next year."

Anna tapped a finger idly against the side of the controller, far enough that she wouldn't push the button accidentally but close enough to push it if she needed to. "What's the matter, Miss Kellis?" she murmured. "Don't know how to handle a little Human kindness?"

"By any chance, does being bipolar run in your family?" Dominique squinted at her crossly and Anna noticed something she hadn't been paying attention to.

"Your eyes are still blue."

The Vampire stared back at her and this time, Anna didn't look away. It was an effort, Dominique saw, but she kept eye contact. That meant something, something the Vampiress was too cynical to term as 'trust'. "My eyes are still blue," she intoned softly, "because of Vampiric power. They flare up whenever I use my powers or if I'm upset or angry or..." Absently she touched a hand to the coat over the VZ. "...or in pain. The glow lasts longer for pain and powers. Don't ask me why."

"I see." Anna's finger continued its slow tapping and for a moment the only sound in the room was that of her nail clicking against the hard plastic. "We'd better get going. They're waiting for us."

Dominique nodded and moved for the door, halting at the sound of Anna's voice.

"We're not friends."

Dominique turned back and smirked humorlessly. "Understatement, Doc."

"Perhaps." Anna turned her attention down to the controller in her hand as she came to join Dominique at the door. "We're not friends, Miss Kellis, and truth be told, I really, _really_ don't like you. If I feel Trunks is in danger, I will push this button and it will be the end of you."

"Uh-huh." Dominique waited as Anna turned off the spell that had locked her in this room. Even as it dissipated, she shuddered at the trickles of power the fading spell dripped over her. It was damn powerful magic. The door opened and Dominique stepped out into the blindingly bright hall for the first time since she'd been brought to Angel of Mercy. She blinked as her vision adjusted and trailed indolently after Anna when the doctor moved down the hall for a pair of double doors.

The halls were deserted, not a living thing in sight. Dominique's eyes trailed everywhere, watching, sensing. No. No Humans on this level. Only the weakest traces of different Vampiric signatures in the other abandoned rooms. _Right_, she remembered. _This is the Vampire Ward. _Guess it meant that her 'attendants' had come down there specifically for her. Gee, didn't she feel special?

She stopped walking when Anna did, just before they would've cleared the double doors. "Problem, Doc?"

"I would push that button and you'd be dead. Poof. Ash." Anna glanced back at her over one shoulder. Her expression was unreadable. "...and I would feel guilty. Not a hell of a lot, but it'd be there."

Dominique stared after her, surprised into speechlessness, as Anna pushed open the doors.


	10. Introduction, Interest, and Initiation

* * *

Chapter 10

_Introduction, Interest, and Initiation_

* * *

It was about 32 degrees Fahrenheit, with the threat of rain/hail. The clouds were dark, almost darker than the night itself. And just outside the emergency exit of Angel of Mercy Hospital, two blue eyes peered wearily over a thick layer of polyester. "Jack...I can't breathe," a muffled voice complained.

Kennedy glanced sideways at his colleague and fought the urge to smile at the sight of him. The younger man was shivering in a thick sweater, two feet of scarf around his throat and lower face. Beneath his clothes were many more layers. "Sorry 'bout that, Mr. Briefs, but it's kind of cold out here and we don't want to take any risks with your immune system right now."

He turned slightly, just enough to show Kennedy a faint shadow of his usual glare. "I don't think my immune system is something we have to worry about right now." Trunks returned to scowling tiredly at the scarf constricting his airway. "Now oxygen-depravation..._that_ sounds like an immediate problem."

Kennedy found it in himself to smile briefly. "You'll be okay."

"Says the man not in a sweater."

Kennedy tilted his head back, stared up at the foreboding sky. It looked as if the heavens reflected the earth: dark and dismal, with an undercurrent of violence. "You need it more, Mr. Briefs. Besides..." He returned his attention to Trunks and clapped a hand on one jerky shoulder. "I kind of enjoy seeing you wear the sweater my wife made."

Trunks cast a cynical eye down to the aforementioned sweater. "You have no self-respect," he accused.

"What can I say?" He shrugged helplessly. "The woman's got no talent when it comes to knitting, but I love her anyway."

The Saiyan stared hard at him. "...it's covered in little dancing green bunnies, Jack."

Kennedy sighed. "I know. It's hideous. But she worked hard on it, so..."

Trunks shivered inside his multitude of layers. "_Bunnies_," he repeated slowly.

Kennedy's placating response was aborted by the arrival of a sleek navy blue car that pulled up beside them. Trunks' eyes narrowed at the bold river of power that spilled out once the driver's door opened. A slender denim-clad leg exited the car first, before the driver came fully into view.

Though he rarely had time for such things, seeing as how he'd spent his whole life killing _something_, Trunks was not above recognizing a fine specimen of the female persuasion. And this one...was a _fine_ specimen.

Her shoulder-length hair was the color of the softest, fluffiest clouds, the tips of it tinted an interesting shade of blue. Her skin, what little he could see of it, was Vampire pale without looking sickly. She was just very fair of complexion and slender of build, almost dainty. Like a...pixie.

His attention was snagged by several nearly unnoticeable protrusions on her person. Well. That made her a very _well-armed _pixie She slung a bag over one shoulder, kicked the car door closed with one thick combat boot, and turning, pushed a wave of her ivory hair from her face.

Trunks found himself staring into eyes the color of storm-kissed waters and was unable to look away.

Kennedy took the woman's hand when she approached, shook it firmly. "It's good to see you again, sir. I'm glad you could make it."

She shifted the strap of her bag, nodding. "Wish I could say the same, Jackie," she sighed in a voice like good whiskey. Dark, potent. Intoxicating enough to send a man reeling. "Mostly because 'off-time' does not include coming out in the middle of the night and making a day's drive, but, hey..." She lifted a shoulder, dropped it. "What can you do? The job's the job."

Kennedy chuckled, tucking his chilling hands back in his pockets. "Got that right."

Those enthralling eyes shifted to the shivering younger man, appraised him. "Who do we have here, Jackie?" she murmured. "Your son?"

Kennedy idly scratched the back of his head with a wince. He could only imagine the unbelievable headache he'd live with if he had Trunks as a son. It was probably something like the one he had now. "Um...not quite, sir." He cleared his throat. "This is, uh, this is Trunks Briefs."

Her focus sharpened on his face and Trunks felt the breeze of power that flitted over his skin. "Ah..." she breathed, a world of knowledge in that one sound. "So I finally get to meet the Hunter face-to-face." She extended a slender, long-fingered hand. "Nice to meet you, Hunter. You'll be my blood-child for tonight."

He blinked very slowly, only just coming to the realization that he was being spoken to. Trunks stammered for a moment, flinging his gloved hand out and clasping hers. "S-Sorry, nice to meet you, too. Please, call me Trunks. I—" His fingers tightened reflexively on hers as her words sunk in. "Blood-child?" he repeated with obvious trepidation. Then it clicked. "...you're the specialist."

She met his gaze straight-on, tightened her own grip reassuringly. "Name's Silesia. Don't look so scared, Trunks," she told him with a half-smile. "I take good care of my blood-children."

"What exactly does that entail?" he wanted to know, carefully unwrapping his fingers from hers. "This blood-children thing?"

"Not much." Silesia took a step back, gave him the space he seemed to need at the moment. "I bodyguard you for the night, make sure that your mentor for the evening doesn't get any ideas, get you back in one piece and satisfied." Her smile bloomed into something genuine. "You're my kid for the night, Trunks, and you'll listen to your foster mommy."

Trunks spent a long moment measuring her. Finally, he muttered petulantly, "You're younger than me."

Silesia arched a fair brow curiously. Was that his sole argument? If it was, then this was going to be smooth sailing. "Am I? And how old are you, Trunks?"

"Twenty-two and a half." He nodded to her. "You?"

"You got me." She flashed her white teeth in a grin. "Twenty-two and a quarter."

The soft laugh from Trunks sounded like music to Kennedy's ears. It was a relief to hear it, and at the same time, it was saddening. The laughter Silesia had coaxed from him was nothing like the laughter Kennedy had come to expect from the Hunter.

The faintest traces of laughter was still echoing when the doors behind them opened. Kennedy saw the amusement fade from the Hunter's face the moment the two women stepped out into the cold. His face sharpened, hardened into something icy and merciless.

Anna came out first, stepping up to Trunks to mother him. It was almost as if there were nothing out of the ordinary, almost as if a mother were tidying up her son before his first day at school with the big kids. It was almost as if everyone were Human.

Almost.

"Your hair's all over the place," Anna sighed as she swept a hand over it. "But it's not too bad. I like your sweater." Trunks grunted at her. "I'm glad you have all these layers. It's supposed to get cold out here tonight. Then again, lately, it's been cold every night and..."

He reached up to take her hands, stilling them in his own. "Anna." His voice was low, calm. "You're babbling."

"Am I?" Anna's smile was shaky, her voice thick with the force of tears. "Oh. I didn't realize that I...I..." She yanked her hands free to throw her arms around him. "Please be careful," she whispered, burying her face against his shoulder as she clung to him. "Please, _please_, sweetie, be careful."

Trunks held her silently, listening as she whispered her fears and cautions to him. He held her and he absorbed her tears and worry. Then he let her go. Nothing needed to be said as he mimicked her and swept a hand over her hair.

"I'm sorry. I'm being ridiculous." Anna sniffled, stepping away. Her moist eyes blinked at the ivory-haired woman beside Trunks, studying her with the ease of familiarity. "Hello again, Silesia."

Silesia tossed Kennedy her keys. "Get him settled in the car, would you, Jackie?"

Kennedy nodded, understanding, and subtly ushered Trunks towards the car. "Wanna ride shotgun?" he was asking the silent Hunter. "Her heater's the best thing you can find in a car."

When they were gone, Silesia moved forward, clasped Anna's hand securely and sincerely. "You know I take care of your patients, Anna," she told her quietly. "I've always done right by you. You've gotta trust me with your boy."

"I will. I mean, I _do_..." She met Silesia's gaze. "He's done so much for other people, and he's always putting everyone else and their needs before his own. I want everything to be done for him that can. I don't want him to be...I don't want it to go that far."

Silesia tightened her grip reassuringly. "I'll do what needs to be done."

"You're gonna kill him."

Anna and Silesia turned, acknowledging for the first time the existence of the immortal still standing beside the closed doors. Dominique was squinting at them through narrowed green eyes, shivering in her white coat. "The Hunter," she clarified as the other two women continued to eye her. "You'll kill him tonight, if he got out of hand. Won't you?"

Without a word, Anna pressed the VZ controller in Silesia's hand. And suddenly, there was a shift in power. Silesia stepped back from Anna and strolled casually towards the Vampiress, her hands tucked nonchalantly in the pockets of her denim jacket. For a long moment, they merely appraised each other, calculating instant strengths and vulnerabilities. "Good evening, Miss Kellis."

Dominique's shivering intensified at the firm bonds of power that teased at her skin, pulled steadily at her own aura. For once, she had nothing smart-assed to say. You didn't fuck with this kind of power. You just _didn't_. "Good evening."

"What sort of behavior can I expect from you tonight?" Silesia inquired politely, her tone professional.

"I don't know," the Vampiress said honestly. "If I'm feeling bitchy, I might express a few opinions that you probably won't like. I'm not exactly good company this evening."

"Do you have any intentions to harm me or my blood-child tonight?"

There was a pause. "Has anybody ever answered that question truthfully?" she wanted to know. "Really. Has any Vampire ever told you their plans, confessed their intentions?"

"You'd be surprised." Silesia tilted her head. "Your response, Miss Kellis?"

"No. I don't have any intentions to hurt anyone." Dominique backed up a bit. It was very uncomfortable to be so close to such an opposing power force. "And, as I'm sure you're aware of, I'm not exactly threatening material right now."

The Vampire looked as if she'd collapse if Silesia poked her with the toe of her boot. "Routine procedure." She lifted the controller so Dominique could see it. "Are you aware that you have been secured with a non-Human submission device?"

Dominique stared at her. "Painfully aware."

"And are you aware that, should you coerce me into the use of force, your device will be activated?" She nodded. "Are you aware that, should you exert more than a designated amount of Vampiric power, your device will be activated?" She nodded stiffly. "Are you carrying any weapons?"

"No."

Dominique was startlingly compliant and Silesia noted this. A cooperative Vampire made for an uneventful evening. "Is there any reason you can think of that I should leave you here in the Angel of Mercy Vampire Ward?"

"No. Except..." Her eyes slid to the car where Trunks waited, chatting quietly with Kennedy. "He doesn't like me very much," Dominique told the specialist. "Actually, he hates me. A lot. I don't think he really knows why I'm here, and I don't think that he'd let me mentor him. That would be kind of a problem, wouldn't it?"

"For a lesser specialist," Silesia answered, following her gaze. "Not for me."

"Oh. I see." Dominique shifted her weight. She was quiet for a thoughtful moment. "Do me a favor, Specialist."

Silesia nodded goodbye to Anna and gestured towards the car. It was time to go. "What is it, Miss Kellis?"

Dominique moved towards the vehicle. "Warn me before you kill him."

Silesia walked instep with her, waved farewell to Kennedy as he backed from the car. "Trying to avoid survivor's guilt?" she wanted to know.

She chose her words carefully. "I just don't want to watch him die."

Silesia nodded. She could understand that, really. There was something heartbreakingly Human about Trunks Briefs, something that would make her regret, for the first time, doing her job. "In the car, Miss Kellis," she murmured as she opened the back door. "I'll meet your conditions, if you meet mine."

Dominique gazed at her. Something about this odd-colored woman vibrated a chord in her memory, but it was too distracting to try and remember with her power washing over her. Without a word, the Vampire ducked into the backseat, behind the warded cage that separated her from the front.

Silesia climbed in the driver's seat and started her car, tossing her bag on the seat beside her. Glancing over, she realized Trunks was watching her attentively. "Question?"

"No." Trunks turned around, stared intensely and silently at Dominique. The Vampiress stared back without faltering. Trunks turned back around and focused his gaze straight ahead. "No. No question."

Silesia shrugged and pulled out of the parking lot. These two would have a lot to say to one another before the sun rose. Her job was to mediate between them, but she couldn't stop herself from wondering just what the night had in store for the three of them.

* * *

The room was void of light but as easily seen around as if illuminated by a hundred candles. On the luxurious bed in the corner, a dark head lifted lazily as icy power slid sensually through the air.

"Oh." There was a wealth of pleasure in that one sound, that low sultry voice. "Well. Good things come to those who wait." She stretched cattily. "Mmm, and I've done more than enough waiting." Her bare form wickedly white in the darkness, Satin Sin rose gracefully to her feet and reached for her silk robe. "Come along, Livvy."

The huddled naked being in the corner was too intent on the rotting corpse she fed off of to respond. The man—it had once been a man—had been dead for days now, his blood long gone and his flesh foul. She was whimpering piteously as she nursed at his throat in vain.

"Livvy." Golden eyes gleamed dangerously. "I said come."

The twitching girl lifted her head, tears gleaming in her pitiful, soulless blue eyes. "M-Mommy. I'm hungry, Mommy, so very hungry." She whined like an animal as she nuzzled and pawed at the shredded flesh of the corpse. "He won't feed me, Mommy. Why won't he feed me?"

"Because you're a bad girl, Livvy, and he doesn't like you," Satin said absently as she crossed the room to the armoire. It was the first night of her feeding, the night they'd escaped, that Livvy had moved from 'Mistress' to 'Mommy'. In only two days, Livvy had become solely dependent on her. "Bad girls don't get fed."

Livvy scrambled after her, wrapping herself around Satin's leg. "Oh, oh, I'll be a good girl, Mommy," she moaned desperately. "Please, I'll be such a good girl, please?"

The elegant Vampiress stared down at her, disgust mirrored in her amber eyes. The girl was like an infant; she needed Satin to do everything for her. She didn't mind, really, being a Vampiric Mother to the girl. The usual feeding and soothing, the dressing and disciplining, she was comfortable with these things. She had done most of them once before for her first fledgling, and it had given her a sense of something akin to nurturing, though her first fledgling had had nowhere near the attachment Livvy had developed—in fact, Dominique had had no attachment to her at all.

But tonight, she was restless and had no patience for such things as caretaking. "Remove yourself, Livvy, as we've things to do. Behave and I just may take pity on you."

Mad eyes rolled up to stare at her. "Oh, _thank you_, Mommy," Livvy babbled as she flung herself off. "What do you want me to do? What? I'll do it, I'll be good."

Satin returned her attention to the armoire, studying her fashion options for the evening. "Your instructions are to dress appropriately."

The eternal teen glanced down and pinched her bare skin in confusion. "Mommy?" she questioned in befuddlement. "I...I have no clothes for that. I have no clothes. No, no dress."

Satin rolled her eyes with an impatient sigh. "Oh, Livvy, must I do everything for you? Are you really so utterly useless?"

The blonde blinked up at her miserably. "Yes," she whispered. "I need you, Mommy."

Satin reached far into the wardrobe and pulled out a high-cut cocktail dress in the former shade of Livvy's eyes. "Here." She passed it to the girl and folded her arms as Livvy stared down at the smooth material blankly. A few moments passed and the youngling lifted her head with a pitiful expression. "Oh, you _stupid_ thing. Stand up," Satin ordered intolerantly as she snatched the dress from Livvy and tossed it over one arm.

Livvy hurried to her feet. "W-What do I do? Mommy, am I being good?"

Satin studied her pensively, frowning as she tapped a finger on her chin. "I had not realized just how filthy you are, Livvy," she commented, lifting one of Livvy's bony arms for her inspection. There were layers of dirt and grime adhered to her skin. "I refuse to defile any clothing by putting it on your tainted flesh. Not until you bathe."

Livvy cowered, flinching visibly as she shuddered. "M-Mommy, please, do I have to? I...I don't like the bath. I don't like it."

She aimed a steely look with eyes filtering blue. She set store by appearance, worked quite hard on her own, and Satin would be damned if she would go out with Livvy in such a state. "I won't be disgraced by your wretched presence. I will leave you, you witless little beggar, or I will kill you, whichever will pain you more, because I tire of you and your simpering!"

Her matted blonde hair in her face, she blinked streaming eyes at Satin as she began to hyperventilate. "Mommy," she whimpered in her tiniest voice. "W-Why are you being so m-mean?"

Satin squinted at her darkly. It wasn't Livvy's fault that she was so twisted up inside. She was impatient for tonight, yes, but the girl hadn't done anything out of her usual stupidity. And besides... Satin still needed her. She couldn't afford to abandon or drain the fledgling just yet. Although she wished to draw back her hand and beat Livvy into compliance, she knew that that would accomplish absolutely nothing. The youngling was weak of mind as it stood, moving rapidly towards unusable for Satin's ultimate goal if she did not fix this.

"Forgive me, little one," she purred, all tenderness as she reached out to brush away an errand strand of dirty yellow hair.

Livvy sobbed brokenly, knuckling her eyes. "Y-You yelled at me."

"I did, yes," Satin murmured gently, gathering the girl closer. "And I apologize. You know I wouldn't leave you, hmm?"

Livvy clung to her, anxious for contact. "I don't w-want you to go. You're my mommy. I love you," she wept. "You feed me if I'm good. Don't be mad, Mommy, I'll be good. Good girl Livvy."

Satin patted her head as her own eyes returned to gold. "I like when you're a good girl, little one. Now...show me what a good girl you are and go take a bath."

She twitched but nodded frantically. Mommy would stay. If she did what Mommy said, Mommy would never leave her. "Will you help me, Mommy?"

"Of course, dear Livvy, of course." She stroked the girl's hair. _For a purpose, _she told herself coolly as her temper fled in the face of logic. _For a purpose, I will be Mother. _"And I'll help you dress when you're all done. Now come along." She took Livvy's hand and tugged the insane fledgling towards the adjoining bathroom. "Mommy wants you nice and pretty for our special night tonight."

"Special night?" Livvy eyed the bathtub with sheer terror but stayed her ground. It was for Mommy. It made Mommy happy. She still wanted to run. "What's our special night, Mommy?"

Satin leaned over the curved porcelain to run warm water, smiling softly. Why should she be angry? There was no reason to be upset, to be cross. Tonight was going to be perfect. There would be plenty of time to deal with little details, little matters of annoyance. But for now, her Daughter needed a bath... "Why, my darling, tonight is the night you'll meet your Aunt." She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes glittering pleased amber in the dark. "Won't that be marvelous, Livvy?"

* * *

_"No!" _he screamed as he staggered to his feet and fled down the alley. His breathing hitched in his chest as his scraggily shoes pounded against the slick concrete. _"Get away from me!"_

Dominique sighed heavily as she rolled her eyes heavenward. "Why do they make me chase them?" She watched the street thug run for a moment before she extended a hand. "I have no time for this," she muttered and launched a sliver of her aura, curving it into invisible fingers. She closed her fist and the fingers of her power closed around the mortal, halting him in his tracks. He made a soft, frightened sound, before her influence dragged him under and he went silent.

A bit of dizziness made her vision swim slightly. Dominique shook it off and glanced down at her hand. "Guess it's been a while since I've done that," she mumbled and moved towards her captive. She snatched him by the dirty collar of his leather jacket and began to drag him back the way they'd come. "Idiot thinking he could run from me, as if I've nothing better to do than chase after his stupid ass..."

She walked him around the corner and down the street. This part of town was deserted for the most part. Bad weather, inadequate shelter, paranoia and gangsters had forced more of the smarter people to another part of the city. But this would work well for their purposes tonight. She dragged the entranced Human until she came back to the parking lot with only a single navy blue car inside. Two people were waiting outside the car when she dropped the subdued Human at their feet. "Here."

Silesia was sitting on the hood of her car and lifted a brow. "That was awful quick," she commented casually. "He didn't run?" The look on Dominique's face said quite clearly what she'd thought of that particular course of action. It had been stupid. Silesia nudged her companion with her elbow. "Ready?" she asked him with a sidelong glance.

Trunks was leaning against the passenger door, arms folded as he stared down impassively at the burly mortal on the dirty ground. "No."

"Why not?" the specialist inquired.

"Because." He lifted his blue eyes, frowning at her now. "I can't do this. I _won't _dothis."

Dominique glared. "I didn't go after this idiot for _my _health, y'know," she informed him blackly. "You have to put some kind of effort into this, too."

"I'm not going to kill him," Trunks returned with just as much annoyance. "I am not going to stand here and take his life for no reason."

"No reason?" The Vampire's eyes narrowed. "And I suppose you don't consider the continuation of your own existence as a reason?"

"Not at the cost of someone else's life. It's wrong to kill someone just because you're hungry. " Trunks glared down at her. "Not that you'd know anything about that."

Silesia saw the faint pain that flickered over the Vampire's face. _Sore spot. He's hit her where it hurts. _"All right, kiddies, I don't know about you, but I'd like this to be over with before New Year's. So here's how we speed this up." She poked Trunks in the back of his knee with her boot. "You. Stop being an asshole. She's here to teach you, not put up with your bull. I suspect her tolerance for your speeches on morality isn't limitless, and I don't want to see what happens when that tolerance runs out. Because then _I _have to become involved, and at this point, that would make me very cranky." She shot a look to Dominique. "And you. You have some damned patience. You can't expect him to be okay with this overnight. So give him a break. I'm sure _you _didn't accept the idea of Vampirism easily, and you had a century. "

They both looked at her, looked at each other, looked back down at the man on the ground. Dominique shifted her stance, hugged herself tighter against the cold. "All right." She blew out an annoyed breath. Why was this so hard? Perhaps because it was all so surreal. She was teaching Trunks Briefs, _the Hunter_, how to ensnare, subdue, and feed from Humans. It just felt strange to her. She gazed at him. If it was strange for her, she could only imagine how _he _must feel. And because of that, she would try her best. "What problems do you have exactly with this?" she asked softly.

Trunks was still staring at the man. "That I'm going to kill another Human being so I can live. An innocent man."

"Okay." Dominique steeled herself, told herself to be patient. All of this was new to him. "Well, first off, Mr. Briefs, I'm afraid I have to point out that you're not particularly Human anymore." She saw him flinch, his expression shut down. "Second of all, how do you know he's innocent?"

Trunks raised his gaze to hers, hard. "He's done nothing to me," he began but Dominique held up a hand to silence him.

"No. No, no, wrong answer. Just because he's done nothing to you doesn't mean he's a damn Boy Scout. Trust me, he's done plenty—much more than a simple feeding would penalize him for."

"And how do you know?" Trunks demanded, cranky from the hunger that was beginning to cramp his stomach. "How do you know what he's done?" Silently she tapped a fingertip to her temple and he understood. "You read his mind," he said slowly, eyes narrowed. "His thoughts, his memories."

"Yes, and before you give me the invasion of privacy lecture, perhaps you should take a look as well." She glanced at Silesia. "Or is that out of bounds for me?"

The specialist was watching them closely, interested. "No, you're good on that one. Oh, but, ah, don't attempt to try that on me," she warned the pair of them as she tapped her own head. "Nasty little psychological defense system in here."

"Right. Noted." Dominique returned her eyes to Trunks as she knelt down. "Come here," she instructed as she settled down on the ground beside the silent man.

He eyed her suspiciously. "I don't trust you," he said finally.

"Well, you have to," she shot back before she remembered she was supposed to be patient. "Otherwise, you're going to die and it's not going to be pleasant. I refuse to be responsible for you wasting away in agony and madness. Now sit down so I can teach you what you need to do and we can get the hell out of here."

Silesia nodded at him. "It's what we're here for, Trunks." He glanced back at her. "I would tell you if you were in danger."

That was true. Silesia was in place as protection, wasn't she? So she would know if something was going to hurt him. Feeling ridiculous for being nervous, Trunks crouched down on the opposite side of Dominique, watching her from across the Human.

"Since you're a beginner," the Vampire intoned, "we'll start simple. I'll be a conductor, and you a receiver. All right?"

Trunks lifted his lavender brows. "You need to explain that a little more."

Her mouth twisted. "I don't know how to explain further." But she had to at least try. "Um. Let's see. Do you remember what I showed you that night at your house?"

It took him a second to recall and the memory had his face sinking into a dark scowl. "What's that got to do with anything?" he grunted at her. That had been a different time, only a few weeks ago—but everything had changed so quickly, so permanently since then.

"It's like that, only I'm a television broadcasting _his _thoughts—" she tapped the mortal, "—this time. You're just watching, no real effort necessary. I'll teach you the technique for doing it yourself later."

"...what do I have to do?" Trunks asked.

"Since we're using a conductor this time, we'll need physical contact." One hand on the man, Dominique leaned forward, the other hand extended towards Trunks. She fought down the sound of impatience when he leaned away from her touch. "I'm not going to hurt you. Relax."

He made a face at her. "How can I relax when you're about to go into my _mind_?"

"You're a strong-willed man, which means that now that you have Vampire in your blood, your thoughts are inaccessible to me." Her tone was serious, almost scholarly. "I can only broadcast. I can't manipulate anything in your mind, I can't read your feelings. I'm locked out."

Trunks absorbed this, nodding, and after a moment, he sat still and allowed her freezing fingertips to rest on his forehead. "Now what?" he muttered.

"Now you close your eyes and wait." Dominique let out a slow breath, her brows drawn together in concentration as the whisper of her power spiced the air.

Trunks was about to demand what exactly what he was waiting for when it struck him: a sharp grinding pain in the center of his forehead that speared straight into his brain.

_Blood on his hands, and damn if it didn't feel good. Too bad the bitch didn't have more money. Oh well, he'd had his fun with her already. She was a good fuck, dead or alive. Left her there and wandered to the next room._

_Kid's room. Little fucker in bed. Sound-goddamn-asleep. What kind of kid slept through his mother getting murdered? Whatever. Not his deal. What's the kid got? Kid shit, naturally. Nice looking watch, though. Get a couple hundred for it, find Frankie, and score at least a week's worth of fixes._

_Twitching. Face was twitching. Damn fixes. Needed them, though. Felt damn good. Take the kid's watch, kid wakes up and starts crying. Nothing a few good punches don't shut the hell up. One, two, and the little fucker's down. Bleeding a lot, though. Hit him too hard. Wow. Stopped breathing awful quick. Probably 'cause his face is all crushed in. Looks just like Mom now, all broken and dead._

_Mother like son. Frankie, find Frankie. Time for a fix. Where's the door?_

Dominique's fingers left his forehead and he was ripped back from the house, away from the blood and screams and into the stark cold. He was shaking badly, cold sweat dripping down his face as his eyes, his burning eyes, began to focus again.

Silesia was behind him, her weight against his back as her hands rested comfortingly on his shoulders. "Easy, easy now there, Trunks. Hits ya hard the first time."

Nausea bubbled in his throat. "T-There was a kid. Young, maybe six," he told her shakily. "Mom got murdered and raped in the next room. Then he went for him, took his watch. Kid woke up and, and his face..." He broke off, shuddering, and Silesia squeezed his shoulders.

Dominique groaned softly and braced one hand on the slushy ground when she swayed, the other pressed to her pounding head. "Christ." Her voice was trembling, weak. "Christ, that takes a lot outta you."

Trunks gazed at her with glowing eyes. "You knew," he said softly. "You knew he'd done that."

"Wouldn't have brought you an innocent," she mumbled as she struggled to compose herself. It was hitting her hard, far harder than natural. Another little gift courtesy of the Vamp Zapper? "I knew that he'd done this, but _you_ had to know, to see for yourself. You never would've believed me."

"He's not Human." Trunks stared down at the thug, a part of him concerned by the feral hunger that lurched in his blood along with his anger. The rest of him was too horrified and furious by the violence and decimation he'd seen to dwell on it long. To take an innocent family and destroy them, desecrate them, just for the hell of it sickened him and made him hunger for more than just revenge. "He's a monster."

"Glad you think so." Dominique forced herself upright and looked worse for the exertion. "Recognizing that what we have here is as non-Human as you and I is where it's difficult. Now comes the easy part, Mr. Briefs." She yanked the man's head back, exposing the grungy flesh of his throat. She lifted her eyes, eyes flickering between green and electric blue, to meet his. "Go ahead," she encouraged softly, presenting him with her offering. "It's time for you to finally let your instincts do the driving."

* * *

FND: Whoo! sinks to the floor That was actually harder than I thought it was gonna be! But, I delivered. I feel satisfied... No, no, actually, REVIEWS would satisfy me. So be nice, you guys, and press the little button...please?


	11. Kill You, Kiss You, or Kick Your Ass

* * *

Chapter 11 

_Kill You, Kiss You, or Kick Your Ass_

* * *

_Definitely_ not for the first time in his life, Trunks ignored the protesting moral voice in his head. It spoke of Humanity and righteousness and other things, but it was difficult to imagine the bespelled man before him as a Human, too difficult with the images and sounds of the attack playing so vividly in his mind. Trunks could not think of a damned good reason why he shouldn't crush his windpipe where he lay.

As a matter of fact, thinking in itself was proving to be quite the laborious task. It was getting harder and harder to form coherent thought over the sultry mantra playing in his mind.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

Ah, his heart... How strange, he'd never noticed what an intoxicating sound it was. How soothing, constant. Just a few inches away, and Trunks could grab him, take that beautiful sound all for himself. This bastard didn't deserve it, not with all he'd done. No, Trunks would take it and make it his own. Put it to use. His fingers curled in anticipation.

For all this asshole had done, Trunks wanted to tear into flesh, to splatter blood he imagined was bold and crimson and oh, so very satisfying. No one got to murder a child and live. Trunks would finish this himself, in a way he'd never been able to before. Somehow this was more personal, more intimate.

Silesia watched him move as if in a trance, his eyes aglow with Vampiric power, and she studied his body language more carefully. This was one of the important moments she had to be on alert for: the first blood contact of a new Vamp. It was a time when a Vampire was at their most dangerous.

Dominique kept the criminal's head tipped back and heard clearer than she saw the moment his fangs sank deep into the dirty throat she offered. It sounded, actually, much as biting into an apple would. The first scent of blood in the air was heady and went straight to her head like a shot of hard, pungent alcohol.

Silesia was watching Dominique just as intently as she did her charge. Trunks wasn't her only responsibility. She also had to make sure the Vampiress didn't get any funny ideas about feeding tonight—with orders to terminate her if necessary.

Dominique swallowed hard as she watched him feed, her stomach seized with violent hunger. Just the smell of it took her back to that night, the first and last night she'd even taken Human blood.

_Stop! Please, she's just a little girl! Take me instead, please! _

She closed her eyes as she forced the memories, the voices, away. When she had buried that horrible night deep in her mind, she took a deep breath. It was hard to watch, despite her many years of having seen Humans fed upon.

At the first coppery drops that had touched his tongue, all pain and anxiety, all aches and weariness had faded instantly into a soothing euphoric bliss. He felt warm, full of energy, and yet... so hungry. Oh, where had this peace been his whole life? He closed his eyes and fed like a baby at the breast, oblivious to everything but where his food was coming from and that it continued. He was nearly vicious in his hunger, his fingers clinging forcefully to the entranced Human as if Trunks expected him to run and leave him hungry. The Human was so far under he never so much as twitched.

Silesia was watching him, a credit to her occupation. You didn't get to be a specialist of her level just by accident. She waited on the hood of the car, poised. For several minutes, both women gazed at Trunks as he drank, surrounded by icy wind and the disturbingly liquid sounds of blood being transferred from one throat and down another.

Dominique's eyes narrowed as she watched him after a time. He was no longer feeding for hunger's sake, but for greed—just the need and desire for more, for the power of taking. From the way Silesia was shifting, she obviously felt it too. Her mind made up, Dominique lashed out and catching a fistful of lavender hair, ripped him painfully back from his comforting rapture.

The sudden severing from his bliss had Trunks whimpering at the loss of it for but a moment, before he opened wild electric blue eyes and bared his bloodied fangs in a low growl. The Vampiress had a second to blink before he turned his fury and hunger on her.

"Fuck!" Silesia leapt off the car and dove for them as Trunks snarled and rearing back, tore maliciously into the flesh of the arm Dominique had thrown up to block his lunge for her throat. Instinct had Dominique's eyes flaring dangerous blue as she hissed and struggled under him. She screamed as his fangs ripped deep into muscle and reaching deep down into herself, she called on the Vampiric power she rarely exerted and used it to launch Trunks away from her.

The Vamp Zapper beeped warningly before it treated the Vampiress to another generous dose of electricity that left her twitching and writhing on the ground.

Trunks slid in the slushy road a good fifty feet away, off-balanced and disoriented, and Silesia lunged like lightening to straddle his back, placing her knee firmly on the middle of his spine, pinning his hands behind his back. One of her daggers pressed into his neck, hard enough for him to feel. "Trunks, you need to listen to me," she said in a loud, clear voice as he panted heavily for breath beneath her. His aura was erratic, frantic as he squirmed. She braced her weight on her free hand on the ground to keep herself steady. "You need to calm down for a minute and get yourself under control before you do something stupider. Do you hear me? _Calm the fuck down!_"

He twisted his head to glare at her with glowing inhuman eyes, snarling with a mouth still dripping blood. He snapped at her threateningly and very nearly caught her wrist in his teeth.

Silesia stared back, not the least bit intimidated as she jerked back her wrist from striking distance and smacked his head hard into the concrete. "If you don't start relaxing, I'm going to put you under against your will, and from what people tell me, that's not very fun. So start counting to twenty, or whatever it is you do to take it easy, because I won't sit here all night while you throw your little temper tantrum. You have two minutes to calm down."

There was a flicker of understanding in that primal gaze. Trunks laid his forehead down on the hard, cold ground and growled quietly to himself as his heart rate began to slowly calm.

Silesia glanced over her shoulder at the Vampiress. Dominique's maneuver had been necessary and completely in self-defense; but the VZ didn't differentiate. She'd pushed the limits of her power and it had responded appropriately. The very heavy blood-scent in the air made Silesia a tad uneasy. A scent like that could attract any number of nasty supernatural visitors. She got a good look at the wound and hissed out a breath. _Shit._ "You all right over there, Miss Kellis?"

Dominique was shaky as she used her glowing eyes to stare her arm—or what was left of it. The whole right sleeve of the coat was in tatters and in the best condition of anything on the limb. Trunks' teeth had dug deep into her biceps and had ripped from there almost to her wrist. It was a bloody mess of shredded flesh and muscle, beneath was the glistening white of exposed bone. The Vampire was pale as she cradled the maimed appendage close, blood slipping through her fingers.

"You're...you're hurting me," a voice said thickly, and Silesia turned back around. Trunks lay with his head turned to one side, his cheek resting on the cold ground and one sapphire blue eye focused clearly on Silesia. "Your knee, please."

She waited a moment, searching his aura. It had dampened considerably, reduced to only a few steps above the level it had started at. The mild surge in power was to be expected, being newly fed. But it was clear from his voice and aura that he was out of the stages of bloodlust.

Silesia shifted slightly, took her knee off of his spine as she kept her position straddling him. She wasn't quite ready to let Mr. Briefs to his feet yet. Keeping her blade in place, she reached into her coat and took out a thick roll of bandages. Silesia tossed it to Dominique. "You might want to bandage that up, Miss Kellis, until we get back to the hospital."

Silently, she complied, concentrating on dressing her wound with blurring vision. The pain should have been a hot lick of fire, but for the most part, she was mercifully numb.

"How you feeling, Trunks?" Silesia questioned the man sprawled beneath her once Dominique was adequately bandaged.

"I feel fucking fine and dandy," he answered tensely, squinting up at her. "I feel like I have too much caffeine in my system, too much energy. On a positive note, I don't feel like I'm freezing to death anymore. Can you get the knife outta my neck? If it's not too much trouble. I'd appreciate it a lot, thanks."

"Hey." Silesia's tone sharpened to one of authority. "Right now, Trunks, I don't want to hear any bullshit from you. Not until we get this completely under control."

"Under control," he mumbled crossly. "You're sitting on me. You smacked my head against the ground and there's something sharp poking me in my neck. How much more control do you want?"

She nudged the weapon warningly against his throat. "I know for a fact, Trunks, that cutting your throat won't kill you. However, I assume something like that would be just a bitch to heal. Don't tempt me right now. Just sit there while I think."

"Fine," he shot back and the one blue eye focused on her closed.

Silesia let out a slow breath and relaxed as much as her guard would let her, racking her brain. Dominique was definitely not a threat now—not that she really had been before, but now Silesia really didn't have to wonder what she had the ability to do. The Vampiress probably couldn't even make a fist right now if Silesia asked. In fact, she'd probably be very pissed off if Silesia did ask. But that was just plain mean.

Trunks seemed to have convalesced into something resembling normalcy with him. He was very energetic now—almost creepily so—and the body beneath hers was warm and free of the chilly shivering he'd exhibited earlier. But his reaction to Dominique's interference, while not truly unexpected, was surprising nonetheless given his nature. She had thought him to have greater control over himself than to completely lose control like that, but Silesia had been wrong before. When it came down to it, he was as helpless against his instincts as any one of them.

What troubled her was what his innate reaction to Dominique's copious bleeding was going to be. Was he going to be driven into bloodlust again? If he was, he was sitting up front with Silesia, which made her his next target. She had enough weapons to take him, but while driving? She couldn't put him with Dominique because one of them was going to die that way no matter how she spliced it. Was that even a chance she was willing to take?

_In the back._ Dominique's mind-voice was whispery, strained. _Put him by himself... in the back of the car. B-Behind the bars._

That would leave Dominique sitting up front with Silesia, true, but the Vampiress was laughable as an opponent. Silesia knew if Dominique got contrary, she could have her dead in seconds. She was weak, blood-deprived, and injured. Easy prey. Putting Trunks behind the warded chain-gate kept him from going ballistic on either of them, should he so choose. It would also, Silesia surmised, hurt his feelings. However, his feelings were not priority, his survival was.

_Nice thinking. Although I will say I'm surprised you bypassed my psychological defenses._ Silesia projected her thoughts to Dominique with practiced ease.

_I didn't. The question of what to do was written easily on your face. I'm not stupid, Specialist—or masochistic. I offer my thoughts to your general direction and if you accept then, well, then that's up to you._

Silesia smirked mildly. _See if you can get to your feet and we'll go from there._ The Vampiress started moving and Silesia switched her attention to the quiet violet-haired fledgling beneath her. "Okay, Trunks, my boy... This is what we're going to do right now."

He didn't move, opting instead to lie pliant. "Okay."

"We're going to wait for Miss Kellis to get up and moving, making sure she's all right." Silesia was watching the Vampiress struggle to her feet from the corner of her eye. "And then you and I are gonna get in the car. This time, though, you get to ride in the back."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then his voice, soft and stung: "You don't trust me."

_And there are the hurt feelings._ "Actually, it has little to do with trust. It's also because right now you happen to be the strongest out of all of us and I'd rather not have any of my blood in your system if you lost your mind. Then," she said with blunt honesty, "I'd kill you. Sorceress's blood would make you far too strong. Plus I might lose a good deal of my power in the process and I'm not willing to sacrifice that for the sake of your sensitive feelings. Sorry," she added as an afterthought.

Dominique was on her feet, albeit unsteadily. She glanced down at the bloody ruin that was her arm and attempted to wiggle her blood-drenched fingers. Nothing happened. She tried again and felt nothing but the heavy numbness. Muscle damage, ripped flesh. This was not going to be pleasant to heal—in fact, it was going to hurt really badly, worse than the original wound had.

"Miss Kellis, I've only just remembered something I would like you to help me with."

She glanced up at Silesia's voice, saw that she hadn't climbed off of Trunks, and frowned at them. "What?" she demanded, her tone anything but helpful and her words just a bit slurred.

Silesia glanced over her shoulder at the shaky Vampiress. "Our volunteer for the evening is still alive."

Silence reigned heavily for a heartbeat. Dominique narrowed her brilliant blue eyes. "And just what the hell do you want me to do about that?" she demanded.

"Mercy killing," the specialist replied casually as Trunks shifted uncomfortably under her.

Dominique gazed at her, into those rainy blue-grey eyes that were watching her so calculatingly. It was almost like the gaze Satin used to turn on her, but without the malice or threat of violence. It was simply intelligence. _She's cunning, that one._ "I can't feed," she said quietly.

"I know." Trunks was trying to seeing what was going on and Silesia exerted a bit of effort to keep him down as she watched Dominique. "I never asked you to. A quick, painless death is all. Painless is asking a lot, I know, but we're a bit pressed for time."

Her mouth twisting grimly, Dominique glanced over at the silent Human only a few feet away from her, where they had left him bespelled and half-dead. The aroma of the blood around him was staggering in its strength and potency. Her vision teemed red at the edges as her stomach cramped painfully.

Best get it done with. She knelt down and bracing her foot against the man's head, took hold of his shoulder and twisted him sharply. Bone cracked thickly in the near-silence of the parking light and the Human was gone from their lives as quickly and unimportantly as he had entered them.

Silesia nodded her approval. She'd watched Dominique struggle with her instincts for a moment before apparently, the Vampire's better judgment won out. Did wisdom come with age then? Was this a skill Trunks would have to learn or would he master it with time? A question for later. "Thanks, Miss Kellis. That takes care..." she trailed off as her skin prickled with awareness. She caught sight of the blurred shadow hustling swiftly towards Dominique and swore. "Look out!"

Dominique's head snapped up a moment before something moving with the speed and momentum of a freight train took her off her feet. She slammed backwards into Silesia's car with enough force to go through it. There was a crunching of metal and glass as the Vampiress rolled from the wreckage, struggling with a frenzied form atop her.

_"Get off me, you stupid bitch!"_ Dominique roared furiously. The blonde extracted a strangled scream from the Vampiress when she dug her dirty fingers into Dominique's ruined arm and brought her fingers to her lips to taste the fresh blood. Dominique's good hand was tangled powerfully in her hair, yanking her away. _"Fucking hell!"_

Silesia had Trunks up and was moving him back away from the fight. "Saiyan, Vampire, whatever mix you might be," she said firmly, her eyes on the struggle as she backed them both against a lonesome streetlight, "you're not getting involved in _that_."

Trunks was a bit shell-shocked and confused. Things had changed so quickly, so swiftly, that he wasn't exactly sure what was going on. "What is that?" he asked, a hitch of panic in his voice as his eyes followed them. "Attacking her, what the hell is that?"

"I don't know, I don't know," Silesia snapped as another blow flung the injured Vampiress like a child's toy. Dominique was at an extreme disadvantage, fighting weakened and one-handed—and without the use of her Vampiric power. "It feels like a Vampire, but the aura is...incomplete."

"Yes, it was such a shame, really," murmured an interested voice from above. "I suppose I should've left her Human. But congratulations, girl, on your awareness of it."

A wickedly curved blade appearing like magic in her hand, Silesia leapt back, grabbing Trunks by the arm even as he jerked around. He turned his gaze up and into the golden eyes of the slender woman perched atop the streetlight. "No," he managed to whisper, horrified.

She was dressed in deep, velvety red that hugged her figure amorously, her dark hair in a decorative fastening at the nape of her neck. She lowered her lashes when she smiled ardently, looking perfectly content and not a bit bothered by the cold. "Now, now, dear Hunter, don't be rude... After all, it has been a while, has it not?" Those amber eyes appraised him with visible approval. "Oh, my," she intoned with a wider smile. "And here I believed you were quite attractive as a _mortal_. A terrible sin those clothes are obstructing a better view."

He was gripped by sheer primal fear. Now, now he could feel her power as he never had. It was no longer waves of an ocean, but an ocean itself that threatened to strangle him with very little effort. It was a weight, a physical pressure on his mind and body, a cold aching that numbed whatever bits of his mind it touched. He may have been strong-willed, but as he was, Trunks did not have strong defenses. His knees threatened to buckle as his heart raced feverishly in his chest.

He couldn't stand against her. Shouldn't stand against her. No, no, not against such a force of superiority, a force of such heart-wrenching beauty and grace. It was wrong to go against her, wrong to think such bad things about her. Not when she was smiling so comfortingly at him, accepting him. Beneath the fear was something more primal than fear: lust. A hard, violent kick of lust flooded his system. What the hell was wrong with him? She was so...lovely, so unworthy, and yet she stood there, offering herself to him. How could he turn his back on such an exquisite specimen of...of...

_Demon!_ the Hunter within him howled to the heavens. _A murdering, conniving demon bitch! A killer and a liar! Wake the **fuck** up, you useless idiot!_

Trunks blinked, shocked out of his daze, and his frightened expression transformed into something feral. "Chryssatin," he said between his teeth, recognizing her for what she truly was. A force to be cautious of, but not worshipped. Not revered. _Hated_.

Silesia felt a flood of relief. For a moment, his eyes had glassed over and she'd feared she would lose him to the older Vampiress. She kept her gaze focused on the escaped Vampiress watching them casually, her grip on her sickle steady. "Trunks... Do you think you could get away on your own?" she whispered.

He took a step away from her, moved automatically into the crouched fighter's stance he hadn't taken in what seemed like forever. "I think I'll stay," he said dryly, glaring up at Satin. "I've got a little unfinished business with this one."

Satin arched an elegant brow as her smile spread into a smirk. "Oh, dearest Hunter, I would love to accommodate you, but it seems my fledgling is proving to be a far more interesting show." She tilted her head and moved her gaze away from them. She had been waiting a long time for an opportunity such as this—to watch two of her fledglings collide.

The ivory-haired woman and the Saiyan beside her cautiously followed the direction of her gaze and Silesia swore hotly and loudly. A blue-gowned blonde was running towards where Dominique had fallen from a particularly powerful attack. Dominique was shakily trying to push herself up on her good arm, but it wasn't holding. She rolled away and the slippered foot of the blonde missed her head by inches.

The blonde went after Dominique once more and lunged for her, to take that taunting, beating heart and sate her hunger. Dominique snarled at her and drawing back her leg, kicked Livvy full in the face with as much physical power she could muster.

The blonde girl landed hard on the ground a good hundred feet away and spent a few moments blinking in confusion. Then she crawled to her knees slowly, weakly, and astonishingly, brought her fists up to her tearing eyes. _"Mommy!"_ she wailed, blood dribbling down her chin. "She _hit_ me!"

Satin made an irritated noise low in her throat. "Now, Livvy, do not cry. Mommy does not like little girls who cry all the time." She watched Livvy roll to her feet and search the slick lot for Dominique. Satin let her ocher eyes drift to the white-haired woman and her Hunter. They were running towards her Sister, in vain, to tell the truth. They could not save Dominique from Livvy.

Silesia was pointing something at Dominique, a small box of some kind. Satin pursed her mouth curiously. Strange. I have seen such a thing somewhere before. What is... No! Her eyes flickered angry blue as recognition struck. "Livvy! Get the device from the Hunter and the Sorceress now!"

_Sorceress?_ Trunks had time to think as he glared over his shoulder at Satin. Why wasn't she following them? She was just standing there, watching. Silesia skidded to a stop beside him, the VZ controller pointed at Dominique as she stabbed a finger at the button.

_Damn!_ she thought angrily. _It must've gotten broken when Trunks went mental!_ She couldn't turn it off, couldn't keep it from shocking Dominique. In short, Silesia could not give the Vampire the strength to defend herself. But there was no time for that, as the fledgling had abandoned Dominique and was scrambling towards them. Trunks' attention was on Satin Sin—he wasn't watching the fledgling. She could only curse his inability to multitask in battle. Surely it hadn't faded with the transformation?

"Move, you damn moron!" she shouted as she threw down the controller and shoved him out of the way. She brought her sickle down in an arc that slashed at the fledgling and tore a neat gash down the blonde's face.

Trunks stumbled back as he nearly lost his footing and looked over in time to see the fledgling's fist catch Silesia in the shoulder. Silesia's face went blank with pain a second before she went flying backwards to slam into the wreck that had been her car, her sickle skittering out of her hand. Her head whacked against it a second later, hard. She slid limply to the ground and stayed there.

_"Silesia!"_ He backed away from Livvy and exerted enough energy to get airborne, touching down beside her. She was semi-conscious, limp when he slid an arm around her head to lift her. "Silesia!" he called to her. "Shit." His eyes raked over her, searching for injuries. She was beginning to bleed where she'd cracked her head against the car, but she was alive, and that eased his drumming heart slightly. Trunks wouldn't have been able to stand the guilt had she been killed due to his carelessness. He held her close, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. He had to come up with something, and quick.

Dominique groaned as she struggled to focus her shifting vision. That little bitch was a maniac, mad as a damned mental patient. She ached from head to toe, stronger, dizzying ripples of pain where the little sadist had dug eagerly into her mangled arm. She'd been smiling like a child in a fucking candy store when she'd tasted her blood and Dominique had wanted nothing more than to make her writhe in agony on the ground.

She sat up slowly, carefully, and took silent stock of the situation. _Goddamn it, the girl's out cold. The Hunter's hopeless as long as he's scared for the specialist. Right now he's powerless against anything Satin would throw at him anyway_, she reflected irritably. _So I have to help them, but The Bitch has the VZ controller... Since when is it my job to protect stupid mortals?_ But she got to her knees, and then her feet, with a resigned sigh. _They owe me big time for this_, Dominique vowed and with her arm hanging uselessly at her side, strode carefully towards the other Vampires.

Her eyes flew to Trunks, meeting his frightened gaze._ Run,_ she mind-whispered to him. _This is the only time I will be a distraction for you. Run._

Trunks could only stare blankly at her. _She can't be serious._

Livvy crouched down on the ground and studied the cracked box her Mommy had wanted her to get. She wanted to lick at the blood that was dripping down her face and staining her pretty blue dress, but she had to do this first. The device was little and had only a few buttons and numbers, gauges she couldn't understand. It seemed like such a useless thing, damaged and small, but Mommy wanted it and Livvy had gotten it for her.

She cradled it carefully in her cupped hands as a child would an injured pet of a kind and got slowly to her feet. "Mommy?" she called, looking at Satin still perched atop the streetlight. She lifted the VZ controller, hope in her voice. "Is this what you're looking for, Mommy?"

"What a good girl, Livvy," she crooned with dark delight. "Such a good little girl, my Livvy. Bring it here, dear one, bring it to me." Livvy clambered clumsily towards Satin, eager as her Mommy lowered herself to the ground, a hand extended. Livvy dropped the controller in Satin's hand, beaming up at her with her soulless eyes.

Satin smirked frostily, lifting her golden eyes when her Sister walked towards them with purpose. It was the first time they had seen each other since their last outing together, and Satin was pleased to see that her Sister looked worse for the wear. She raised the controller for Dominique to see. "This is such a nice present. Is it from the Hunter?"

Dominique stopped a few yards away, eyes narrowed in loathing. Somehow it was satisfying to stand before the deadly Satin Sin and realize that there was not such a large difference in their powers anymore—at less than half capacity, her aura was still beneath Satin's. But full strength would put Dominique equal or higher than the elder Vampiress. "Every sound that comes out of your mouth makes me want to find something pointy to impale you with again and again," she said darkly as Livvy ducked behind Satin. "Your pure existence grates on whatever's left of my sanity and if I had my way, I would be watching you burn from front-row seats."

"Oh," Satin murmured on a dreamy sigh, "but one cannot always have one's way. That is true, is it not, Little Sister?"

Trunks' attention was snagged when he felt movement and his eyes flew down. Silesia was blinking groggily up at him, scowling. He nearly went weak with relief.

She held up her good hand, fighting a shudder. If only her aura were stronger now, then she would have an easier time standing her ground. Satin's aura flirted at the boundaries of her own, daring Dominique to attack. "You don't get to call me that," Dominique shot back tartly. "You don't get to group me with you, now or ever."

"Your Aunt is so cruel, mmm?" Satin stroked a hand over Livvy's once-clean hair. "She doesn't realize that cruelty to one's family rarely goes..." She glanced down at the device in her hand. "...unpunished."

It beeped again. Which was good and bad. Bad because being electrocuted sucked noodles. Good because it gave her a warning.

Dominique threw up her good arm to brace herself with a wall of her aura and was seized with a lesser dose of electricity than would usually be administered. She couldn't stop it, not completely, but the wall served to dampen the strength of the signal from the controller. Her legs threatened to give way, but she refused to crumple. Gasping for breath, she staggered back, glaring defiantly through her dark hair at Satin.

"That was quite entertaining." Satin's eyes were so cold, so hard. "Shall we do it again, Livvy?"

"Yes!" Livvy's eyes were fever-bright with pleasure as she leaned affectionately against Satin. "Please, Mommy?"

"Since you used such nice manners, Livvy..." Smiling, she turned the dial experimentally and pushed the button again. This time, Dominique screamed, bending double as she curled in on herself. Every nerve ending was on fire, a pinpoint burning needle of pain in every inch of her skin. Satin laughed, low and rich as she watched Dominique tremble violently with the force of the current racing through her system. "She has such a lovely scream, doesn't she, dear Livvy? I could listen to it all night."

And so they proceeded to do. They pushed the button approximately three more times, watching the reactions escalate, before Satin noticed that not only had she stopped laughing, but Livvy had moved away from her. She turned, a dark brow arched. "What is it now, little one?"

Livvy was frowning in bewilderment, her fingers prying at the newly-healed wound down her cheek and making it bleed anew. "Mommy," she said with soft bemusement, "it feels funny. I don't like it."

"Oh, you stupid thing. It is freshly healed," she said with dismissive exasperation. Livvy was distracting her from fully enjoying her Sister's agony. "Leave it alone, Livvy."

Silesia extended a hand towards Livvy and whispered softly in a foreign tongue, "_Tine_."

Livvy's blue eyes were on Satin when she opened her mouth to voice her confusion once more, but what came out was a scream like razor blades on glass as tendrils of flame leapt from the gash to lick at her face and throat.

Satin whirled around, startled, and dropped the VZ controller as Livvy shrieked. Her eyes flew to Trunks and Silesia, flamed blue at the grim smile on the white-haired woman's face. "You spiteful little _bitch_," she hissed, baring her fangs furiously.

Silesia was on her feet, more or less holding herself up, watching Livvy run as smoke and the stench of burnt flesh tainted the air. "Too bad the girl moved, Sinclair," she told her flatly. "I could've taken you both out with one spell."

"You'd need more than simple magicks to take me, little girl." Her voice was no longer sultry and inviting. It was icy and dark, chilling you to the bone just from the sound of it alone. It promised vengeance, and more than that, lingering pain. "And you will need more than that to save yourself when I come for you." She shrouded herself in shadows, crept them along to cloak the wailing Livvy and then the pair of them were gone, leaving only echoes of Livvy's screams as testament to their presence.

Silesia retrieved her weapon and hurried with Trunks towards the twitching Vampire, keeping well out of striking distance. A wounded Vamp was deadly. "Talk to me, Miss Kellis," she ordered briskly. "What'd that bitch do to you?"

Amazingly, Dominique was still on her feet, hunched into herself as best as she could be with her damaged arm. Her bright blue eyes when she lifted her head were blind with pain. She seemed to be dripping blood from a million places, shaking badly as her teeth chattered from bloodlust-induced cold and shock. She gazed at Trunks for a brief moment. _You're fucking stupid_, she berated, her words slurred badly even telepathically. _You d-don't know what r-run means, do y-you?_

Her lashes fluttered and Saiyan reflexes had Trunks reaching out before she could collapse. "Careful, careful with her," Silesia cautioned as he shifted his grip and carried her with an arm under her knees and one behind her back. "Christ, she's in bad shape."

Her stormy eyes darted around, calculating, planning. "All right," she said, her gaze resting on what must have once been a hotel on the far other side of the street. "We'll take a break there before we go back to Angel of Mercy. Sinclair won't come back here, not tonight." Silesia winced, touching a hand to the back of her throbbing head. "And I think we all need a rest. Let me grab my things from the car."

Trunks cast a dubious look to the mutilated wreck the two Vampires had crashed through. "I don't think anything survived, Silesia," he told her, lifting lavender brows. "Especially not your car."

Silesia studied the ruin and gave in to a groan as she scrubbed a hand over her face. "I just finished paying it off two months ago," she grumbled and left him to jog towards the mangled heap of metal. She rustled around, tugging at stubborn debris until she'd removed not only the driver's seat but the driver's door, the steering wheel and the emergency brake. Eventually, she emerged from her former mode of transportation with her bag, which happened to be in surprisingly good condition. She checked it for her belongings and nodded her approval. She came back to Trunks and the unconscious Vampire and sighed, a short impatient breath that fogged in a white cloud in front of her. "Okay. Now we take five. Let's go, Trunks."

* * *

Yes! (pumps fist in the air) I think I did well with that! I'm on a VH-Writing-Roll! Wheeeeee!! Okay, ladies and gents, read and review, if you would be so kind! 

ForeverNDarkness


	12. Aching Attachments

You'll have to forgive me for not updating as regularly as I had been. In January, my mother passed away suddenly and I was without warning thrown into a chaos that I had no control of but was expected to handle on my own. Pain has nothing on a nineteen-year-old signing the papers all alone to bury her forty-year-old mother. I had to get my household situated, make sure my seventeen-year-old brother kept up in school and my grandmother was going to be okay all day by herself while I was at work. This kind of responsibility's a bitch... Anyway, I finally found some time to write and I found that it dulled some of the pain losing Mama stabbed into my heart. So I started writing again, and I'll try to continue updating as I had been recently: with regular frequency.

I suppose I should go to the story now, as you all didn't open this chapter to hear me rant. But I wanted to thank you all for your continued support and just general enjoyment of VH. (Be sure to read the note at the bottom, guys!) Thanks again!

ForeverNDarkness

* * *

_Chapter 12_

_Aching Attachments  
_

* * *

"Artemis?"

Apollo took her by the shoulders, shook her again with his fingers bruising her cold skin. "You're not allowed to die," he whispered to her, flaming blue eyes narrowed as they searched her. "You hear me, Artemis?"

She lay limp in his grip, head lolled back. No matter what he did, she wouldn't open her eyes, wouldn't respond to him. He couldn't hear her heartbeat and her skin was so very cold. His little sister had gone to sleep and not woken up again.

Panic had his throat gripped in a vice. "Wake up!" He bunched his fist and slammed it powerfully down onto his sister's chest, willing that slow, sluggish heart to beat stronger. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck! You're not allowed to die!_" Apollo curled her in the crook of one arm and rocked with her, his cheek on top of her head. She was so thin now, wasting away slowly. He imagined he looked much the same. It had been a _very_ long time since they had fed, but before they could get over their fear, they were far too weak to go. His voice trickled to a whimper as he clung to her, tears threatening. "You're not allowed to die and leave me all alone."

His eyes darted around, searching for something he refused to believe wasn't there. "Mother..." He choked back a sob as he curled himself around his sister. _She's the only one who can help us now, who can help Artemis. Where's she gone? _ Tears streamed down his face. "Oh, Mother, please come back."

* * *

"Um, Dr. Kinaki?" A redheaded intern approached the counter of the nurses' station where the coatless doctor was sitting and working quietly. "I have something of a problem."

It took Anna a moment to realize she was being spoken to. She lifted her head, shoved her hair from her face wearily to study the newcomer. It was Nina, Nina Mills. Relatively intelligent, good bedside manner. Wanted to work as a doctor at the orphanage, if Anna remembered correctly. But Nina Mills was a little too 'holier'-than-thou' for Anna's tastes. She squinted up at the young woman blearily. "Yes? I'm sorry. How can I help you, Mills?"

"Well..." She jerked a thumb over one shoulder towards one of the corridors. "One of our patients still hasn't eaten anything, and I was just wondering what to do about it because I'm getting concerned."

Exhaustion took away the strength to snap at the intern. "That's odd. Let's see what we're working with here," Anna sighed, reaching for the chart the intern held closely. After a moment's hesitation, the girl gave it over and waited for Anna to read it. The doctor stared at the writing on the chart for a long moment before she reached up and scrubbed both hands over her face vigorously. "Oh. It figures. It just...figures."

_Briefs, Bulma_, the chart read, _Unclassified Vampire. _

"So, what should I do, Dr. Kinaki?" Nina shifted her weight from one foot to another as Anna returned the chart and she tucked it back in the crook of her arm. "She isn't requesting anything at this point, but I just thought I would bring it up. Sooner or later, something's going to have to be done."

"You shouldn't even be down there. You're only an intern. Interns don't deal with Vampires. I won't do it." Anna rested her forehead on the counter. "Go ask Dr. Stevens to take care of it. Or Dr. Jefferson. Not me. I'm on my break."

Nina stared at her blankly, surprised by Anna's blatant refusal. "But, Dr. Kinaki..."

"No, no." Anna folded her arms and used them to cover her lowered head. "On break, Mills, thank you. Please ask someone else."

"I just figured since you knew her son you could do something, maybe have him talk to her—" Nina broke off tensely when Anna's head snapped up and her eyes were fierce.

"_Nina_." Anna's voice was low, tight with strained patience. _"Go. Ask. Someone. Else."_

Nina nodded emptily and curling the chart tighter, turned on her heel to walk stiffly back down the hall.

Anna glared after her a moment before her weariness forced her aching head back down again. She would never, _ever _speak to Trunks of his mother, let alone ask him to help care for her. In fact, it was only because of the Hippocratic Oath the fucking bitch was still alive. Sometimes Anna dearly _loathed _the Hippocratic Oath...

Nina's mouth worked into a frown as she strode towards the Vamp Ward, creasing lines in her brow. _I don't see what Kinaki is so wound up about. It doesn't violate any rules and I didn't demand anything unreasonable. All I did was ask for help with a patient that should be treated as equally as anyone else. She's just as hypocritical as the rest of them... _She came to the warded door and entered her access code. The spell would let her pass, naturally, because she was a Human, but the locks were a security measure against the woman inside and had to be dealt with. The security badge Nina had swiped was definitely coming in handy. She knocked politely on the door. "Ms. Briefs? May I come in?"

_Of course, sweetie, _the soft voice murmured into the depths of her mind. _I've been waiting for you to come back._

Nina opened the door and peeked inside, offering a slight smile. "Good evening. And how are you, Ms. Briefs? Feeling alright?"

The Vampire was sitting on the floor in a corner where the shadows of the room were deepest, her head resting back against the wall and her arms draped over her curled knees. Her skin was tight on her bones and her clothes hung on her frame a little loosely. Her glowing blue eyes focused on Nina. "As alright as I can be..." She shifted, giving the redhead more of her attention. "They won't let me see my son."

Nina came fully into the room, making an understanding noise. "I know. I'm sorry about that, very sorry. But I don't really have the authority to allow something like that." She set the chart aside and took a seat on the immaculate bed the former Capsule Corp. heiress had not slept in. Nina tsked worriedly. "Anything else I can do for you?"

Looking disheartened, Bulma smiled weakly. "No. That's all I want. But you're sweet to look after me, Nina, dear."

"Oh, no, of course," Nina insisted, shaking her head at the thanks. "I only wish I could do more. _And _I wish you would eat something, Ms. Briefs." She leaned her elbows on her knees, bringing her closer to the blue-haired woman. Her mouth twisted uncomfortably as her eyes pleaded with Bulma. "I don't like seeing you like this."

Bulma lifted a bony arm and snorted out a humorless laugh. "I'm sure you're not used to it. When I first met you, I'd just had my son and I wasn't exactly supermodel size."

Nina smiled faintly at the memory. Bits and pieces were a little faded—after all, it had been about twenty-one years ago—but she recalled vividly the first time she'd looked up into that beautiful and kind face, into patient and brilliant blue eyes that crinkled with laughter whenever they laid eyes on Nina. "You've always been lovely the way you are, Ms. Briefs. I knew that even when I was six years old."

The Vampire sighed heavily. "Oh, but you probably don't remember too much, sweetie," she murmured wistfully. "You didn't stay with us long, just while your mother was an employee at Capsule Corporation." Bulma nodded lightly, gesturing. "Now your mother Lena, _she _was a gorgeous woman. All those red curls and that smile of hers... " She met the intern's eyes keenly, held Nina's gaze for a long minute. "You were only ten when she died, poor thing. Do you remember her?"

Nina's smile spread slightly. "I do," she said softly.

The Vampire's voice was soft, warm honey, her words peace made sound. "Do you think of her often?"

"Um-hmm." Nina closed her eyes and proceeded to do just that. She could still envision her mother vividly, the way she _used _to look before...

_No, don't think about that. _The honey voice tugged her thoughts away from unpleasant memories. _That's not your mother... Think about Lena._

Her skin had been like porcelain, fair, white, and smooth, but so very warm. Nina could remember, with an ache of longing, feeling her mother's skin on hers when she'd climbed into her mother's lap to be held. Engulfed by the subtle rosy scent of her, surrounded by those long, twisting ropes of auburn hair, staring up into that angelic face... Life had been so perfect then, so beautiful—as beautiful as the smile that forever lit up her mother's face whenever Nina was near.

Funny how the memory was so clear she could actually _feel _her mother holding her. Nina's smile was dreamy as that familiar warmth encircled her, that scent subdued her. She turned her face into her mother's shoulder and sighed. "Mama..."

Lena Mills smiled gently for a moment, stroking Nina's straight red hair. "Will you stay with me, baby girl? I don't want you to go away."

Nina was drifting off to sleep, lulled by the security and familiarity of her mother, lost in that strange, wistful world between fantasy and reality. The loneliness of all those years alone was fading fast, leaving only love and peace in its place. Nina had her mother again... "Mm-hmm."

She pressed a soft kiss to Nina's cheek, her voice a whisper. "Now hold still and let Mama take care of you." Her smile peeled back to reveal glistening fangs and the illusion faded as the demon who borrowed the face and voice of Lena Mills satiated her appetite with the life of her only daughter.

* * *

The hotel was oddly well-kept for being so obviously empty for so long. They found the bottom floors, however, to have been hollowed out by druggies, thieves, and gangs looking for hideouts. Nothing beyond the sixth floor had been touched, as it had been secured with several non-Human-strength locks. Simple things for Trunks and Silesia to make quick work of, but far too much of a hassle for the normal, everyday ne'er-do-well. And then they had their choice of good rooms_—_though dusty and full of air gone stale with disuse, they were quite nice.

They took up the Presidential Suite, because as Silesia had said, _"When's the last time the President wiped out something supernatural? I think she owes us—and if she wants to bitch, she can take it up with my sickle." _This made sense to Trunks, of course... in a strange, violent sort of way. It was also the biggest suite, queued off into six different rooms. Two elaborate bedrooms, a bathroom with a tub to die for, a fully-stocked kitchen, and a 'sitting room'. The last room Trunks and Silesia both uncomfortably hazarded to guess was 'for couples only', judging by the bed, candles, and very old champagne. There was a unanimous decision that that particular door remain closed.

Kellis was settled in one of the bedrooms, silent and unresisting. It was probably a good thing, considering the pain she'd have been in had she been awake. Her arm was healing itself agonizingly slow, even for Vampiric healing. Silesia had treated her as best she could, drawing on her healing abilities until the sorceress was feeling sick and lightheaded herself. Apparently, her concussion didn't take kindly to the overexertion of magic.

Trunks had had to cart her indignantly over one shoulder to get her to stop trying to fix Kellis and had earned an elbow in the jaw for his trouble. But it had given Silesia a time to let herself recover. Things had calmed now, for the most part—the rush of adrenaline from earlier in the night had long faded, leaving twin shadows of weariness and ache behind.

No longer in the throes of withdrawal-induced chills, Trunks found the precautious taken for his 'immune system' to be unbearably stifling and a few of them to be in not-so-good condition anymore. "Jeez, it's hot in here..." he grunted as he proceeded to shed a few layers of extra clothing. He unwrapped what was left of the wretched scarf and scowled as he tore off his gloves. "Makes no sense. What the hell did they give me six shirts for? Whose shirts are these anyway?"

Silesia was watching him from where she lounged on the loveseat, creamy brows raised in amusement. Since he wasn't a ball of lethargy and angst at the moment, she found him to be quite entertaining. "Been meaning to ask you a question, Trunks," she spoke up, gesturing towards him with the bottle of water she'd taken from the minibar. It helped with the headache that had warned her of concussion and the strain she'd been putting on herself.

He glanced at her, pausing with three shirts halfway off his head and his arms bent quite awkwardly as he prepared to yank them off. _Why does it always seem like she's staring at me? _"Yes?"

A smile twitched the corners of her mouth up and she covered a laugh with a weak cough as she put on a straight face. "Why are you wearing a sweater with green bunnies on it?" she inquired, taking a sip of her water.

The demi-Vampire scowled and ripped the shirts off his head, including the offending sweater. He tossed it to the floor and spared a moment to glare pure hatred at it before he went back to getting rid of the excess clothes. "It's Jack's," he grumbled as he turned away, embarrassed.

Silesia spit a mouthful of water as she sprang into a sitting position, choking on water and laughter. Trunks stared at her, startled by her reaction. "Are you _serious_? That horrible sin against decency and all that's holy is _Jackie's?_ Oh, God, this is perfect!" She capped her water bottle when she was calm enough to do so, swiping at her mouth as she continued to snicker. "Jackie in a green bunny sweater... Oh, I have the ultimate blackmail now."

"His wife made it for him," Trunks offered in a weak attempt at defense as he stripped off the final shirt and kicked off his boots. He couldn't come up with anything better than that, since he hated the thing himself. Sure, it had been made with love and care and heart from a woman to the man she loved but still ...all the love in the world didn't keep it from being damned ugly.

Silesia snorted. "Well, I doubt either of them will see it again—especially seeing how there's a huge hole in the back of it now. You'd do better to just trash it now."

Trunks stripped down to his original pair of jeans and looked around his massive pile of abandoned clothes to where she was pointing. He couldn't help but wince at the kick of guilt he felt when he knelt down and found the sweater, indeed, was missing quite a sizable amount of its back. Hated it or not, he hadn't meant to destroy it. "How on Earth did I rip it back h..." He trailed off as he remembered with unsettling clarity just when he'd had such a chance. The skid he'd taken when Dominique had flung him away. Flung him away after he'd shredded her arm in the embrace of bloodlust.

Silesia sensed instantly the downshift in his mood and sobered, setting her water bottle aside. She gave him a moment, studying the fierce, dark emotions in his dark blue eyes. He was remembering—a dangerous pastime with the lives they both led. And being only a demi-Vampire, he would have a crystal clear memory of everything he'd done. Silesia had a feeling Trunks was the sort of guy that didn't handle guilt very well. "What're you thinking about?" she finally ventured quietly.

Trunks was staring intently down at the mangled sweater in his hands, only noticing now the blood and ruin that made the happy little bunnies on the sweater seem positively obscene with their innocence. "Just...how quickly things change," he replied wearily. "If someone had asked me two weeks ago what I would be doing today, I'd tell them: killing Vampires." He laughed bitterly and tossed the sweater away from him as if he couldn't bear to look at it anymore. He gazed at Silesia, grimly smiling as if sharing a bleak joke with her. "And if someone had told me that I'd be a demi-Vampire, mentored by Kellis, and energized off of Human blood? I probably would've beaten them senseless."

"You're right," she agreed softly as she climbed down to sit on the floor beside him. He leaned away from her proximity in the slightest and she took no offense. "Two weeks isn't a lot of time. And a lot has happened to you and you haven't had any time to feel or be angry about any of it. You could, you know. Be angry," she clarified when he only stared at her. "Go off."

"That's easy for you to say. I just can't snap because I feel like it." He turned over one of his hands, stared at it pensively as he contemplated his strength. "It wouldn't be right. It's not easy to throw a temper tantrum when you know you have powers that could cause a nuclear holocaust."

"That might not be so bad."

Trunks' head snapped up and he squinted at her through narrowed eyes, unsure if he'd heard her correctly. "What?"

Silesia was relaxing again, smirking at him as she stretched out her long legs. "A nuclear holocaust. Y'know, horrible radiation making grotesque and decomposing zombies out of everyone? I think that'd be pretty freaking cool, killing zombies and all. I'd get to use a shotgun, which I don't get to use on Vamps all that often—unless you hit the right spot, they tend to have the annoying habit of healing. Zombies are basically Vampires, only without all that stupid ethereal beauty and stuff." She waved a hand dismissively, still smiling. "No, without all that civility and beauty and grace, Vampires are essentially zombies. Except we don't have to protect our brains from Vampires. Can you imagine Sinclair as a zombie?"

And because he could, Trunks could only blink at her for a few moments before a shaky chuckle trembled out, growing into a full-bodied belly laugh.

The thought of classy, dignified and vain Chryssatin Sinclair as a rotting, limping, moaning and drooling zombie was too much to bear with a straight face. He rocked back, tipping over to sprawl on his back as he roared with laughter, gripping his sides when they began to ache sharply.

Silesia grinned as she glanced askance at him rolling on the floor, sharing in his amusement with soft laughter of her own. She laughed louder when he ended up flopping back over her outstretched legs. But mostly, she just got a kick out of watching him really enjoy himself. He looked ages younger when he laughed. The guy didn't let himself have too much fun, so it was...nice to see he had a heart beneath the life of slaying, to know he wasn't so hardened by his experiences that he couldn't be Human. Her laughter started to fade at the thought.

_Oh...but he's not Human, _she remembered and was annoyed with the small pinch of sadness she felt. _It's so easy to forget sometimes. But I can't afford to forget that he's not mortal anymore. Forgetting costs lives and I plan on holding on to mine for a long time. Too bad, though. Guy didn't have a chance to live normally before his life was turned into...well, into whatever it is now. We wouldn't be good friends for each other, anyway._

Still, she didn't care for the taste of pity on her tongue whenever she thought of his situation. It wasn't her place to get involved. She wasn't going to be around long anyway and she had to focus on her objective, her job. Silesia had to do what she came to do. She glanced down at him. "Hey."

Trunks was gasping for breath, one arm thrown over his eyes as he struggled to calm down. Every few seconds, he'd start laughing again before forcing himself to have some weak semblance of control. And _damn _it felt _good_. Trunks didn't have anything to worry about right now. No more Vampires were coming, he didn't have to fight or protect or anything. He didn't have to worry if he was going to die in the next five minutes. For now, he just got to lie back and laugh, something he hadn't done since he was a very young child. He was still snickering as he shifted his arm to grin widely at Silesia. She was right above his line of vision, watching him quite intently. "Yeah?" he chuckled.

Silesia didn't say anything for a moment, simply staring down at him. "You're not wearing a shirt," she said suddenly.

Trunks gazed at her, confused for a moment. Had he taken them all off? He couldn't remember. Then he glanced down and around and realized that not only wasn't he wearing a shit, but he was resting with his head in her lap. Trunks couldn't stop the hot blush he knew was creeping up his neck and coloring his cheeks. "S-Sorry," he began, moving to get away before he earned himself a justified slap in the face. God, what the hell was wrong with him? She had to be so uncomfortable. He really had to start paying better at—

Cool fingers latched onto his shoulders and easily tugged him back down, bringing thought to a grinding halt. Trunks stared up, stunned, into Silesia's neutral face. "I didn't say you had to move," she told him, those tempting blue-grey eyes on his face. "Just wanted to make sure you wouldn't get cold without a shirt on. I don't know much about Saiyans, but I do know I don't want to hear a bunch of bitchy whining later if you catch a cold."

"O...kay." He settled back against her stiffly.

"Relax, Trunks," Silesia commanded quietly. "No one's going to bite your head off for wanting to live and laugh a little." She arched a brow and smirked slightly. "But I'm warning you now, keep your hands where I can see them, pal."

The blush flared brighter as his eyes widened. "I-I wouldn't, I mean I wouldn't even try—not that I wouldn't _try_, but—"

Poor guy was trying to compliment her and be chivalrous at the same time and getting tongue-tied. She rolled her eyes and laid her palm against his warm lips. "You. Stop talking. You're going to humiliate yourself." She let her other hand rest comfortably on his lavender head, even as she cursed herself for getting involved. But Silesia couldn't help it; he was just too damned Human. Or perhaps it was because like Trunks, she, too, knew what it was like to be so heartbreakingly alone that you were desperate for any connection with a kindred soul. Silesia offered him another smile. "You should be exhausted after today. Just close your eyes and relax for a little while."

Trunks glanced up at her, a bit perplexed and feeling awkward. While he was far from ignorant, he was also far from being 'smooth' with the ladies, thanks to lack of real experience. But...there was nothing sexual or even romantic about this. They were just two tired allies resting between battles. He was letting his imagination get away from him again and he wasn't going to screw up his budding friendship with Silesia for idiotic romantic assumptions. With an order for his crazy imagination to shut the fuck up, Trunks forced himself to relax and closed his eyes.

Silesia watched him until his breathing was slow and even. She hadn't really expected him to fall asleep on her. _God, he really is like a child. Trusting at the most astounding times. But nobody takes care of him. _Distance be damned. She could still do the job and be friends with him too. She considered herself skilled in multitasking and this wasn't so very different. She mentally shrugged and rolled her eyes. _Well, I _**did**_say I was his foster mommy. Guess this falls in the realm._

_...yourself?_

Silesia's eyes narrowed when she picked up on the trailing end of a thought. She stilled, concentrating and tuning her mental radar. It wasn't one planted in her mind, simply one issued in her general direction. _What was that? _she demanded of the psychic world.

_I said...is that...what you tell yourself? To make keeping the secrets easier..._

Kellis.

_Shouldn't you still be comatose? _Silesia intoned, shaking her head in annoyance She didn't much care for philosophical Vampires at the moment. She was still too irritated with herself for not being strong enough to keep her objectivity. _I didn't heal you nearly enough for you to have regained consciousness this quickly._

_Talented sorceress that you are, Specialist, _the Vampiress softly responded, _you'll have to keep in mind that I _**do**_ have my own healing abilities. And one doesn't have to be conscious to use telepathy or to be aware of one's surroundings._

It was true, and for some reason, it aggravated Silesia that even injured and unconscious, the Vampire was so damned perceptive. _And what nonsense was that you were babbling a moment ago?_

_Nonsense? _Dominique mind-whispered. _Hmm. Well, whether it's nonsense or not, it was a question. You have secrets that you won't even let the Hunter touch on; they must be dangerous, considering that high-scale security system you have in that mind of yours. But no, you don't have to answer or explain anything to me. Whatever makes you feel better, Specialist... _There was a long pause, heavy with the unsaid. Dominique didn't really care either way what secrets Silesia harbored, as long as they didn't come back to bite the Vampiress in the ass later. Her connection wavered. _I can't keep this up. It's getting...getting difficult...to focus._

_Then rest, _Silesia said on a mental impatient sigh. Another stubborn one, another child. You'd think after more than a century of life, one would learn to sleep when one was tired. _Trunks isn't the only one who needs to relax, you know. Go to sleep, Miss Kellis. We'll finish this discussion later._

Dominique's mind-voice was getting faint, weak. Her last words were a tired, breathy sigh. _Count on it, Specialist._

* * *

FND: Wow... That turned out _nothing _like I had planned. I'm telling you, this story's going in an entirely different direction than I had originally planned. But I do think it is a change for the better. Something else I can't help but notice looking back on this chapter is though I didn't intend it, there seems to be room for quite a few romance scenarios in VH now and I'd like to pounce on those little opportunities. But I don't know whom I would pair with our dear little Hunter. So before I continue with the romance, I'll listen to your opinions on this. Out of all the women in VH, which is the most suitable (in your opinion) for our usually unlucky Trunks Briefs? Let me know via email or review, thanks. 


	13. Healing, Hurting, Helping

Disclaimer: You should know by now I don't own DBZ...but I have the delight of owning each and every character that doesn't appear in the storyline!

Whew! This chapter was driving me _**INSANE **_for _days_!! I could not find the right way to end it! So I stayed up super late and went with instinct and well...we'll see what you all think. Also, guys, much thanks on the pairings help! It is very much appreciated...even if it does make it harder for me to choose. Also, I can't express how touched and grateful I was about you guys understanding about my mom. It means so very, very much to me...I don't even know what to say. The only thing I can think to do is to keep writing and updating often.

But thank you so much guys! Much love! So as thanks, here's this super long--and I hope---enjoyable chapter! Read and review, guys!

FND

* * *

Chapter 13 

_Healing, Hurting, Helping_

* * *

The curtains were drawn against any light, moon or dawn, drawn tight to the night. Another time she would've drunk in the night, a time when she would've let the moonlight kiss and gently bathe her white flesh and welcomed it with open arms. 

A time when she would not have been so completely and utterly furious.

The room was piercing, echoing with wild wails as Livvy, once again, writhed and bucked on the bed as Satin trailed her hands slowly, firmly over horrible burns and boils that covered Livvy's face, her neck, her breasts and her shoulders. Annoying and bothersome as the damned girl was, she was Satin's and no one—_no one—_harmed what belonged to her. Blue eyes narrowed into concentrated slits, Satin allowed her healing magic to cover her slender hands like gloves as she examined here and there, taking stock of the damage that wretched little ivory bitch had wrought on her fledgling.

_"It hurts!" _Livvy shrieked, half-mad with pain and sobbing as she strained against the restraints Satin had bolted her in. The thick, spell-enforced leather groaned as she kicked and screamed. _"Mommy! It's burning, it's burning, I'm burning!"_

"Hush, hush now," she murmured gently, her eyes aglow as she studied the angry red and blackened flesh of Livvy's cheek. There would be scarring, horrendous scarring, unless Satin took care of it quickly. She was already doing her best and still, her Livvy would be marred. "I know, dearest, I know." That sorceress was a powerful one, damned powerful indeed, to be able to call an elemental spell into an already healed wound, especially a wound made with her own weapon. Usually, such a spell would cancel itself out, but no, this-this _mortal bitch _knew what she was doing exactly.

It was old, great magic. Magic the likes of which Satin had not seen in centuries. That woman was no ordinary sorceress. And the thought that she had allied herself with her traitorous Little Sister only incensed Satin all the more. Dominique had served as a distraction while the wench was readying her spell. "Livvy, my darling, shh, shh, shh," Satin whispered as she allowed her healing aura to fog the worst of the pain. She dulled the pain until Livvy finally quieted, sobbing brokenly as she hiccupped and whimpered. There was no more work Satin could do for her now. It was up to Livvy's own healing capabilities and the elder Vampiress had very little faith in those. "Mommy knows, dearest..."

"She hurt me," Livvy panted, tears streaming down her ruined face. "Mommy, M-Mommy, she hurt me bad. She hurt me b-b-bad."

"Shh." She ran a hand over Livvy's blackened, stinking hair. Oh, Satin was angrier than she had been in decades, for she could do no more for Livvy. The angry red skin that had blistered and peeled away had been melded back together, but it didn't quite fit. Though she'd cured most of the pain and taken away much of the mutilation, Livvy's face would never be the same. The right side of her face would always been scarred and that did not sit well with Satin Sin. No one got away with harming her creations. "I know, darling. And don't you worry," she intoned quietly, feeling a tug of almost-pity for the creature. "Your Aunt's little witch bitch will pay dearly for it."

Livvy blinked her wet, dead eyes at Satin. "...the witch bitch," she repeated softly, reverently. "The witch bitch, the witch bitch, Mommy..." There was a shift in her eyes, the faintest stirring of malevolent electric blue. "Will we kill her dead, Mommy?"

"Not at first, Livvy." Satin tilted her head, unsmiling and serious. "She will suffer most horribly before we see fit to leisurely drain her bone-dry."

Her tongue hung out of her slightly-lopsided mouth in ravenous hunger. "Can I lap at her blood, Mommy? Like a puppy? A little puppy, puppy that likes blood."

"You'll bathe in it before we are done, dearest." Satin let her eyes roam over Livvy's face. Yes, the little mortal would go a long time before granted the release of death. And Dominique would not go unpunished, oh, no, for the little mortal was her ally—and Dominique had disrespected Satin.

Whatever her Sister's foolish and fragile "feelings", the Vampiric Hierarchy was to be followed. It was why Dominique had never truly challenged Satin in her hundred-something years of living, the Hierarchy and a healthy dose of fear. No matter how Dominique felt about her, Satin outranked her in age and power and was due a certain amount of respect and fealty, _especially _as her Sire. And Dominique had broken that, stalked and shattered all over the only tradition Satin upheld. She should've submitted before Satin, even running away or fighting would've been acceptable. But to actually stand there on equal ground, so defiant and _insolent_...

Her hands shook with the very anger that blurred her eyes a brighter blue. Satin had created the girl and damn the power she would lose, Satin could eliminate her.

Livvy whimpered and shrank back against the firm mattress she was secured to, frightened by the bright malevolent glow she saw in Satin's eyes. "Mommy..." she said in a quivering voice, her blue eyes wide. "You-You're scaring me."

Satin slanted a measuring look her way and allowed some of the rage fade from her expression. Her eyes slid back gradually to amber. Snapping at the injured Livvy would truly serve her no purpose, especially when it wasn't the girl she was furious with. "I am only thinking of your Aunt, little one, and she makes me quite...displeased."

Livvy's broken mouth worked into something that on another face would qualify as a frown. "She's a bad lady, Mommy. Bad lady. She does bad things, like being mean."

Satin stared hard at Livvy before a soft, unexpected smile bloomed on her lovely face. "Yes..." she said slowly, immensely pleased. The girl was coming in handy. Perhaps there _was_ a mind in there somewhere beyond all that madness. Livvy's face brightened in the slightest, relieved to see her Mommy in a better mood. Satin stroked her fingers down the unmarked side of Livvy's face. " You are right, you are right. She _does _do bad things, Livvy, dearest...and it's time she remembered them."

* * *

_The window had been open._

_It wasn't a warm night, by any means, but there it had been: open, the blue laced curtains twisting in the wind, inviting and tempting._

_She slumped with her back against the wall, lying limp, one arm draped over her eyes as she trembled and whimpered softly with the pleasure of it. Tonight was the night she could not stand against temptation, had not the coherent thought or power of will to stand against the natural predator that always silently, viciously raged inside her._

_Slowly, she dropped her arm, focused blind blazing blue eyes on the lifeless form at her feet. _Stop, _she commanded, no expression on her face. _Stop looking at me.

_Those dulled and wide silver eyes continued to stay focused on her, with that one cold hand outstretched towards her, almost asking her, _Why?

_She felt dampness on her cheeks and swiped at him automatically, smearing the great splotches of blood over more and more of her face. Her chin was dripping with it, the delicately sweet taste of it still dancing on her tongue. It warmed her, warmed her as she'd never felt warm before and left her already hazed mind reeling. The tip of her tongue slowly licked her lips as she stared down at the corpse, at the ruin she had made of her throat. And she hungered for more._

_Leaning forward, she bent over the woman again, moving her long dark hair out of the way and grazing the shredded flesh with her fangs, searching for just a little more._

_The little feet running echoed like a thundering stampede in her sensitive ears and she raised her eyes, narrowed in annoyance at the interruption._

"Mommy!" _a weak voice was screaming. _"Help! Mommy, she hurt me!"

_Then the child was there, her hands clutching her bloody neck as she stumbled into the room, gasping and sobbing. The scent of the girl's blood slammed into her like a solid wall and she trembled with pure, primitive lust. That blood would be hers, that sweet, heavenly blood would belong to her. She stayed where she was, bent over the woman as she stared hard at the child._

_The wounded prey._

_Oh, those same gray eyes. She had her mother's eyes and right now they were wild with fear and pain. It was a beautiful, beautiful thing. Her little pink nightgown was splattered with blood, her own and another's by the scent. Her dark hair was an utter mess, tossed and smelling sinfully of fresh blood. Her face was white with terror, her tiny lip trembling as she stared back._

"_Aunty..." she whimpered and her teary eyes turned to her mother. She gazed down at the bloodless corpse for a silent moment, the pain in her face utterly raw and delicious. Then she looked back at her. "Why?" she whispered. "You're...you're Mommy and Auntie's friend...I love you. Why?"_

_She lifted her head slowly, her unfocused blue eyes intent on the child, the girl's heartbeat thudding strongly in her ears. Blood dripping from her mouth, she settled into a crouch, a low, unearthly hiss rising from her throat._

_The girl managed to back up one step, to let out a single terrified scream before she was on her, taking her to the floor with her and ripping into her throat with her fangs. Then the only sound from the girl was a gurgling sort of gasp as the flesh of her neck was rendered into nothing but meat._

_It was fear. Fear made the blood so sweet, so delicious. Fear and pain made it so much better, so perfect. And a kick of something else, something about this blood, this delicious blood went straight to her head. She fed with abandon, curling herself around the fragile little vessel for such a divine meal. She was wild and reckless and desperate. She had to have it, it had to be hers. The girl was so little, so very delicate, and yet so full of this crimson wine, this nectar that made her drunk and sick with the ecstasy of it all. And it was all hers, all for her as it slid warm and heavy and sweet down her throat. _

**Ah...There you are, little one.**

_Her eyes flew open, slits of glowing blue as a predatory growl vibrated loudly from her chest. She clung tighter to her prey as she continued to feed, her eyes glittering on the newcomer._

**Now, now, none of that... I'm not after your little snack. I've already had my taste of her. She is yours to finish.**

_And she did. She drank of the child until there was not a single drop left. She moaned, a low and throaty sound, and her eyes rolled back in rapture as she shuddered violently, trapped in the throes of the most exquisite mix of pain and pleasure she'd never known. It rocked her, left her in a trembling, whimpering, gasping ball on the floor, her arms clinging tight to the empty, silent little girl, the child that had given her this beautiful gift._

**Oh, you've got blood all over your face and clothes!** _There was a laugh, dark and pleased. _**You look so utterly content with yourself, dear one. Are you still hungry?**

_As she slowly, lazily recovered, she opened her blind eyes to blink up at the woman leaning over her. The beauty, the angel. The one who took away her pain and offered her this glorious, sweet rapture. "More," she whispered hoarsely._

**Oh, you are insatiable. Fortunately, I saved one for you, you know. Come now, little one, she's waiting for you. Put your toy down and come.**

_She stared down in those wide, empty gray eyes for a moment. _You, too. Stop looking at me.

_The dead child did not comply. Stubborn thing. She shrugged the cooling corpse away, letting it slump to the floor as she crawled to her hands and knees, more than just a little drunk. She stumbled to her feet, swaying a bit. As a bit of afterthought, she latched onto one of the dead child's arms and trailed her after her._

**This way**, _said the angel, offering her a hand._

_She took it, blessed it as the dark-haired angel held her steady for a moment. "More," she whimpered eagerly, clinging to the angel. So kind, so loving. "More..."_

_The angel was staring at her, studying her closely with those gorgeous golden eyes. _**Look at you, **_she murmured indolently. _**You've become an animal...but more than that, little one, you seem to be changing before my very eyes. **_She leaned closer, bending eye-to-eye with her. _**I do not think I have seen eyes so fair a blue in all my years, not even my own. They're nearly white... Are you growing stronger, little one, or is it your delicate mind finally breaking?**

"_More," she insisted, tugging at that slender hand. She tugged firmer, harder when the angel merely continued to look at her, unaware of the bruises she would leave behind on the angel's skin. "P-Please. More."_

_Saying nothing but seeming guarded, the angel lead her down the hall the little girl had done and her eyes wheeled around at the glorious scent of blood that was peppered all down the corridor. Had she the proper state of mind, she would recognize these walls, the photos and portraits there, and focus on them instead of the blood splashed across them. She dragged the limp child after her like a little girl herself with a bedraggled teddy bear._

_They came to an open foyer, a place where the blood scent was the faintest and her glowing blue eyes fell on the writhing woman wounded and bound on the floor. Her eyes danced with the delight and promise of violent satisfaction._

_The woman was kicking and struggling madly facedown on the floor, a little blood trickling down from a gash on her forehead to streak in her platinum blonde hair. Her arms were tied securely behind her back and she arched and fought to get herself up, to get moving. There was panic, a hint of desperation in the way she moved. She only managed to roll herself over and turned on them, weak mortal teeth bared and hot gray eyes blazing on the angel. _"You wretched fucking bit—" _Her mouth dropped, her eyes going wide with dawning horror as she realized the angel was no longer alone. "Oh no," she whispered weakly, sagging back against the floor. "No, no, not you...She finally got you."_

_The pain in her voice made her hungry. She tilted her head, curious as to this new treat of hers. She had those same damned eyes... She glanced down at the child she'd dragged after her as if to compare, and drew the new woman's attention to the limp girl._

"No!" _Her scream was startling as she struggled to rise from the floor, her voice thick with what sounded like tears. _"Please! She's just a little girl!" _The blonde was on her knees, fighting hard to get to her feet. _"Take me instead, please! No, no, no, not Belle!"

_She glanced down idly at the child. So the insolent one that would not stop staring had a name. "Belle..." she repeated hoarsely and her expression darkened as a small pain started worming through her head. She touched a hand to her head, growling softly in confusion and pain. That name. What did that name mean? It meant..._something. _The pain began to grow._

"_**That'll be enough out of you," **the angel said suddenly, taking a fistful of that white-blonde hair and jerking the woman's head back. **"I'll not have you ruin all my work with your ridiculous Human notions of loyalty and love now." **The angel looked at her, crooked a finger in invitation. **"Come now, little one, before I lose my patience and take this impudent one myself. You wanted more, did you not?"**_

_That was right, she did. She wanted more, more of that strange pleasure/pain, that red honey that sang to her soul with its call. She abandoned her cold toy, not caring where she lay, and moved to take more of that sweetness. She dragged the woman close, and baring her fangs, drank deep. Something was different, wrong, the blood was warm—no, not warm, hot. It was hot and it burned. She let her go, jerked back and away, that sizzling blood burning a fiery line down her throat._

_Her blood trickling down the white column of her neck, the blonde smiled. "Your eyes," she murmured. "That power...Guess there is justice."_

_She snarled. Insolent one, like the child. But she stopped, hesitated when the blonde threw her head back and met her gaze head on. _

"Maithim duit,_" the blonde told her gently._

_The pain exploded into full-fledged agony. She let out a sharp cry, brought crashing to her knees by the icy, stabbing pain drilling into her skull. She clutched her head in her hands, bent double as she struggled to find thought beyond the pain that threatened to drag her into a black abyss._

_The blonde was screaming, fighting—fighting much more than her first delight, or even the little girl. "You've damned yourself, Sinclair!" she snarled with a bitter laugh as the angel took hold of her again. "You've put pure, undiluted magic in the girl's blood, added it to the magic I've been layering in there for years! Just look at her eyes, you know it as well I do. She can't kill me." There was a triumphant smile as she twisted back to grimly grin at the angel. "Congratulations. You've just created the instrument for your own destruction."_

_The angel's expression was no longer peaceful and serene. It was hard, cold. **"Well. You are correct about one thing, Sorceress,"** she murmured, dragging the Human close. **"**_**She _won't be the one to kill you. I have been waiting a long time to dispose of the mortal that gave her such a strong will to resist the siren's call of blood. Farewell, Sorceress."_**

"Maithim duit!" _the blonde screamed again to the fallen one and those were her last words before the angel ripped out her throat._

_Her vision was hazy, fading fast as she swayed unsteadily on the ground, her near-white eyes on fire and blind as her dark lashes fluttered and her mouth and throat burned with the spicy blood. Even as the pain thundered viciously, violently in her head, for the briefest of moments, her mind cleared and her eyes focused and she _knew _what had happened. "C-Cara..." she rasped, a trembling hand outstretched to her, and then the world went utterly and completely black._

* * *

Of all the things that had scared the shit out of him in his short twenty-two years of life, Trunks Briefs had never, _ever_ been afraid of a scream. Screams had, by turn, angered him, stirred pity in him, or satisfied him. But he had never been afraid of a scream.

Not until one tore through his psyche and hearing like a bullet through glass in the early hours before dawn. He jerked into a sitting position and reached for the sword that was not there. There was a moment of confusion, before the adrenaline kicked in and he was rolling to his feet and already finding Silesia up and moving at his side.

_Kellis_, his brain informed him even as he braced himself and threw open the door to the room they left her in, Silesia armed and beside him.

The room was pitch-black, without even the faint, fading moonlight. The screaming was louder in here, full of a pain that simply was beyond Human comprehension. She sounded like she was being slowly, steadily tortured. The vase on the end table shattered, the bulbs in all the lamps exploding in rapid succession before the porcelain lamps themselves followed. Dusty paintings rattled on the walls, trembling as if being shaken by an earthquake, though the ground was steady.

"Shit," Silesia spat as the potted plant just to her right erupted in a shower of fragmented ceramic and dirt. She batted a particularly large shard away with her dagger when it would've gouged her in the face. "What the hell is going on in here?"

And for the first time, Trunks was aware of the swirling, writhing fiery hurricane of the Vampiress's power. He felt it in a way he hadn't before, hadn't been able to sense it from a fellow Vampire's perspective. It was a churning in his stomach, a heat in his chest—a pulse through his body that had nothing to do with blood. Weak, injured, and blood-deprived, she was still a dangerous, dangerous force to be reckoned with.

His ringing ears located Kellis before his eyes did, as she was still screaming. It looked like she had taken a tumble out of bed and had hit the floor hard. She was bent over on her knees, her fingers tangled in her wild hair as she clutched her head and howled. The floor around her was a mess of punctures and deep, violent furrows. She'd panicked, fought against something intangible that was frightening her.

She was having a nightmare. Trunks came around the foot of the bed to watch her warily. "Kellis," he called, staying out of striking distance. "Kellis."

Dominique hunched over tighter, oblivious to his presence there. What he had thought to be wordless sounds of pain he suddenly recognized as a foreign language. She was screaming something, over and over again in another language as she rocked herself, weeping.

He glanced over his shoulder at Silesia. "Do you know what language she's..." he trailed off at the tight look on the Specialist's face. He hadn't seen her look so grave, not even when Chryssatin had appeared or when Dominique had fainted. "What's the matter? Silesia?"

She shifted her weight and lowered her dagger, but did not look ready to sheathe it. "It's nothing. She's speaking Gaelic," she explained edgily, her blue-grey eyes on the tormented Vampire. "Irish. She's cursing someone. _'You are such a fool to forgive me,' _she says. A ghost from her past, I suspect."

_A ghost, _Trunks mused, turning back to gaze at the weeping, devastated heap on the floor. _Yeah, or maybe three. _He felt his own features twist into something that felt surprisingly like anger, but it lasted only a moment. Trunks could never stand to see anything in lingering pain—even the Vampire haunted by the ones she had killed.

Silesia watched him, stared hard at him when he crouched down and inched closer towards the hysterical Vampire. _He is insane_, she decided pensively, _but maybe that's why he's stayed alive as long as he has. _Silesia shook her head at the notion. _Or maybe it's just dumb luck. Whoa, take that back! _she amended quickly when Dominique's head snapped up and her lips pulled back in a feral snarl.

"_Get away from her!" _she roared, her dark hair stirring around her head in the wake of her power. Then she screamed as the VZ reminded her of its existence. She convulsed and hunched over tighter until the burning pain faded, but it didn't seem to do her as much damage as before. Or perhaps she was already hurting too much for it to do anything more. She snarled again, a dark, primal sound, and stared at him intensely. "Get...away...from...her!"

Trunks lurched back, just enough to keep himself out of her reach. Even from here he could see her badly shaking, see the horrible agony and madness in those ice-blue lustrous eyes. "Calm down, Kellis," he said quietly, firmly as he held up a cautious hand. "It's just a bad dream."

Dominique growled, leaning away as her breathing hitched wildly, and the sound reminded him of a large, injured predator backed into a corner. "I'm killing them," she whimpered to no one in particular. Her vibrant eyes were fogged in the grip of her dream and Trunks realized she didn't even know he was there. "The pictures, the pictures on the walls, why didn't I see them? Why didn't I see it was them? The screaming, the screaming, I can hear them screaming. She wasn't my toy, she was my friend, my friend. Oh, oh, God!" She brought up her knees, and wrapped her arms around her head as she lowered it. "_Maith dom, maith dom, maith dom..._"

Trunks glanced back at Silesia again, silently requesting her translating skills.

She was impassive, so much so that he wondered if he had imagined her grim expression before. "_Maith dom_," Silesia informed him without emotion, "means 'forgive me'. Sounds like Miss Kellis has some unfinished business with a few unpleasant memories... memories that someone's used against her."

"What do you mean?" he inquired, keeping one eye on Kellis and making sure he stayed out of her reach. But she didn't seem too intent on going after him. She just stayed curled in her little ball and crying. "I know a Vampire doesn't have any recollection of anything they did during bloodlust."

"Right. And they'll never remember it on their own." Silesia tossed a nonchalant glance at the disturbed Vampiress. "Perhaps it's an ingrained defense mechanism against madness. Some Vampires, I've found, do have a shred of something resembling a conscience, and knowing what they do when they are at their most primal, can usually reduce the weaker or more sensitive ones to insanity."

"If they don't have the ability to remember on their own..." Trunks raked a hand through his short lavender hair and heaved out a breath. "Then someone else who knew they existed would've had to unlock them and _force _them to remember." He wasn't aware of the soft growl that was building in his own chest. "Chryssatin."

"I figure she's mighty pissed the fuck off right about now," Silesia commented casually, switching her dagger from one hand to the other restlessly. "Can't do anything to you. She likes you too damned much and actually can't fuck with your memories. You were guarded before; now as a Halfling, you've got the psychological defense equivalent of Fort Knox in there. She's too smart to even try fucking with me, though I wish she would because I think it'd be _delightful _to fry Sinclair's brain and reduce her to a senseless, brain-dead heap. So that leaves Miss Kellis, and powerful or not, Sinclair is still her Sire and will always have a certain amount of power over her."

"Is there anything we can do?" Trunks asked impatiently, already knowing the answer. He had seen Vampires in remorse madness and not a single one of them had ever been the same again, had never come back from the edge they'd tumbled over. His killing them would have been a mercy to them had they been aware of it before he put his sword into their hearts. Kellis seemed to be well on her way. "Any way to bring her back?"

"One way to bring back a Vampire from that point." Silesia shifted, eyed him. The room was beginning to slowly calm itself. The pictures had stopped moving, fragile knickknacks stopped exploding. Seemed like a vast improvement to her. "But we're not going that route, Trunks, for a great number of reasons—a lot of them have to do with us staying alive."

"...she would need to be fed, wouldn't she?" Trunks met her eyes head on, his mouth twisted into a dark frown.

"Not even an option, Trunks. She would just be too powerful," she reasoned logically. "Don't forget that not only does she have the Vampiric power she's inherited from Sinclair, but there're layers upon layers of magic in her blood and twined with that Vampiric power, magic from a very powerful sorceress."

It took a moment for her words to sink it. When they did, Trunks turned away from Kellis and slowly got to his feet, studying Silesia in a way he hadn't before. He took a step back from his like of her and took stock of her as he would have as the Hunter. "...guess you do your homework," he said softly.

Silesia's ivory brows lifted at the hint of accusation in his voice and she didn't think she liked his tone. "I never go into a job ignorant," she returned pointedly. "I know all about the Atkins sisters, them and their dealings with Miss Kellis."

"Huh." Trunks tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans, turned his head to glare at a painting against another wall. Having it all summed up so neatly went a long way to pissing him off. They were people, damn it, and more than that, they were his friends. Their lives seemed to be worth much more than one sentence could ever sum up. "Guess you know Kellis murdered them then." His blue eyes flicked to her face and then away. "But then again, that doesn't change anything, does it?"

_No_, Silesia decided dryly, _I _**know**_ I don't_ _like his tone. _"I know everything, Trunks, even if you don't," the Specialist told him, her tone detached as she sheathed her weapon. In Dominique's state, she wasn't going to need a weapon to take her down if it came to that—and Silesia knew well that words could be just as efficient when harming another. "By the way, she's not insane... She's just scared and guilty. Maybe you ought to do a little homework of your own."

He snorted stubbornly.

Her stormy eyes appraised Trunks for a moment as she stood, half-turned away from him. "Just so you know—and I don't have to listen to anymore half-assed assumptions from you—I knew the Atkins family personally, and they were very dear to me. And no, you're right. It doesn't change a thing... and I still do my job as assigned. _I_ don't let feelings interfere." Silesia closed the door without looking back and left him staring after her.

_Fuck._

Trunks scrubbed his hands over his face. He seemed to have an inherent ability to talk without thinking—particularly when it came to matters of the heart like these. Matters like these were the worst, especially when he had believed he'd been right and was proven quite wrong. It made him look, and feel, like a jackass. _She was friends with the Atkins family, knew them like I did..._ he reflected with a mental groan at his own social awkwardness. _She would understand more than anyone how it feels to lose them... _

A pitiful sound from the Vampire on the floor reminded Trunks of her presence and he sighed, turning back to stare at her. He moved closer and settled himself in a crouch just in front of her, bending his head to peer into the face she hid in the wild curtain of her hair. Her eyes were huge and unseeing in her pale face, her arms tight around herself as she shook, curled in on herself as tears streamed down her face unheeded.

"Kellis," he started uncertainly, watching her. She didn't look as if she were still in a nightmare now; she looked as if it had finally sunk in. "I know you feel...badly about the Atkins..."

She didn't respond or acknowledge that she'd heard him.

Trunks scratched behind his ear uncomfortably. He wasn't quite sure what he should say to her or what would be any comfort, so he decided to simply talk to her. Whatever would stop those soft, whimpering noises she was making. "I knew them for a while, but I guess not as long as you did."

Slowly, she blinked, and even slower, she lifted her head to stare at him, the quiet sounds of distress calming. The expression on her face reminded Trunks of a badly abused puppy expecting to be kicked again.

"Talk to me," he instructed calmly, as he would any other survivor of a horror. It made it easier, he realized, to think of her that way.

Her blue eyes searched his face for a moment. "C...Cara." Her voice was hoarse from her screaming, nothing more than a whisper easily picked up by his sensitive hearing. She swallowed hard and tried again, never breaking eye contact. "Cara...didn't fight me." She struggled with herself for a moment, fighting to clear her head and make sense of her chaotic thoughts, to put them into words. "S-She told me, _I forgive you_. After I had taken her blood, even just before she died...I had never known we'd even spoken. I knew someone had screamed, begged for Belle, but that was...that was it." She let out a small, weak laugh that was painfully bitter. "I guess she knew it would come back to me eventually."

"Cara was a smart one," he offered quietly, unable to look her in the face at the moment. He had never known the inner details of that night and he really didn't want to. He didn't think his mind could take the first-person account of their deaths. "Lina, too... They were good people."

"They...They knew me so well." Dominique's tears started anew but she didn't seem aware of them. "I felt I _belonged _with them, felt so...accepted." She put her head down again and her shoulders quivered. "They d-didn't care what I was. I wasn't a Vampire... I was just Dominique. As long as Cara implemented the spell, I could pretend to be normal, just for a little while."

Trunks didn't want to hear anymore about the Atkins sisters. He didn't want to know more about how they had brought Kellis into the family, treated her like one of their own. It made the betrayal that much more painful. But talking seemed to be slowly, cautiously keeping her grounded. He glanced back at her. "What happened after?"

She kept her head down. "The first thing I've always remembered is waking up," she said softly, "and tasting blood. But it was so strange, so...foreign to me, at first I didn't know what it was. And then this, this surge of strength poured through me until I felt like a cup too full of water. I opened my eyes and saw... You were at the scene, I'm sure you know what I saw."

It took a conscious effort on his part _not_ to remember what he saw. He couldn't afford to picture that now, not with what Kellis had already told him in his head. "Right," he replied carefully. Silesia had been right. Dominique hadn't been insane. She was simply scared, guilty—exposed to things so terrible that her own mind had hid them from her.

"It was...horrible. And I known, instantly, that it was my fault. That I had done this. That pain was unlike anything _she _had ever done to me. And in the middle of it all, there that bitchwas, just smiling down at me as pleased as fucking ever." Dominique's voice trembled, but not with tears this time. Now it was fury, hate. She was starting to sound like the old Dominique Kellis, the one from an eternity ago when they had formed what neither of them had considered an alliance. "I...snapped. I just moved without thinking and then I had her down, pinned as my fingers and teeth tore at her. I surprised her, surprised her because she couldn't stop me. I wanted her to die, to just fucking _die_."

"I know the feeling," Trunks commented and Dominique tilted her head, peeking at him through her hair. "Chryssatin and I have more than one score to settle."

"Wish you were there," she confided softly. "Even if it had been too late to...to stop me, you could've finished Satin off. I had the chance—and I got scared. I ran. It was all too much."

"Anyone would've run," he reminded her. In all honesty, anyone would've gone insane and run screaming the moment they would've woken up to what Kellis had. They wouldn't have even had the state of mind to stay, to fight against a demon like Chryssatin. "So...after that," Trunks prompted quietly.

She reached up to tuck away a long rope of her wild dark hair and get a better look at him. "You should remember. You've encountered the products of my actions that night." A flicker of confusion crossed his face and she sat up a little straighter, stared at him a bit more intensely. "...you don't," she realized slowly, her eyes narrowed on him in study. "You _don't _remember them, do you?"

There was a knot of unease begin to tie itself in his gut at the way she was looking at him. Something in his brain was nudging at him, telling him this was something he seriously ought to remember. "What are you talking about?" he asked her. "Maybe if you would explain—"

He went silent suddenly, tensing in the same moment Dominique did. Her head snapped up, whipping towards the door just as Trunks felt the faint pulse in blood that he was just beginning to recognize for what it was: a Vampire's aura signature. His eyes flew to Dominique, wanting an answer, and he stilled at her expression.

There was a soft look on her face, something more open and exposed than he'd ever seen. Her lips were parted slightly, as if there was something she wanted to say.

Before he could question her there was a flux in the signature as glass shattered from the other room and a hoarse howl screeched through the suite. Dominique was up only a fraction after Trunks was and they reached the door at the same time. Trunks ripped it open, only to stop short at the startling sight encountered.

Silesia's two sickles were wicked silver, glinting in the moonlight on a vicious downswing almost too fast for sight against the intruder.

Dominique's flaming eyes went wide as her hands flew to her mouth, unable to stop the scream that erupted forth.

"_Apollo!"_

* * *

FND: Wow...am I evil or what? Not Satin evil, but pretty damned close! Sorry about the cliffhanger, guys, but had to do it! It was right there! Read and review, guys, and we'll see just what happens to the players in our little production..._  
_


	14. Certifiably Chaotic

FND: Okay, admittedly: I couldn't take it. This chapter burned the tiny shred of a soul I still have left into crumbly little ash... XP

Had to fix it, redo it, add more to it...I'm quite pleased actually with how it turned out. I also went back and did a lot of editing of Ch. 11—which I hadn't realized had gotten severely mangled in the uploading. So there ya go!

Thanks for all your patience, you all! I'll try to get the next one up when I can!

**AND PLEASE READ THE NOTE AT THE BOTTOM, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!**

* * *

Chapter 14 

_Certifiably Chaotic  
_

* * *

Her scream was still softly echoing in the room, leaving only shadow sounds of it to ring in their ears. 

Trunks was frozen, rooted to the spot with his eyes on the Specialist and her victim in the middle of the room. One of the windows was broken in, the glass around Silesia's feet. The scent of blood was in the air, spicy and forbidden. Dominique stood just behind him, her eyes wide and her hands dropping from her mouth as she whispered, "Apollo..."

Slowly, Silesia turned her head towards the pair of them. She did not look like a happy camper. Her magic-kissed sickles were crossed in a V, only centimeters from severing the head of the frightened, gasping teenage Vampire. His glowing blue eyes were wide, wild and focused solely on the dangerous blades just barely touching his skin. "_You_..." she hissed softly to Dominique, keeping her sickles in place, "...have some explaining to do. I suggest you do it quickly before I lose my temper and execute him anyway."

"S-Stop." Dominique moved now, quickly though a bit unsteadily, clasping one hand on the handle of a sickle. "Stop, stop it, he's my fledgling! Let him go! He doesn't know what he's doing. My God, Apollo, what are you doing here?"

_Apollo..._ The name was repeating over and over again in Trunks' head, until his brain formed a hazy memory of a willowy gray-eyed teen complaining of hunger. _I see now,_ the Hunter in him contemplated. _This is what she meant. The 'product' of her actions...she sired a Vampire that night. _And for some frightening reason, Trunks realized that it didn't bother him. It didn't bother him that Kellis had stolen another life, made someone into a creature like...but wait. If Kellis was a creature, then what was he? A monster, a demon? Ah, hell, it was something to explore at another time—possibly when someone wasn't about to have an appendage cleaved from their body.

Apollo was trembling, leaning away as far as he could from the wicked blades at his throat. His eyes were locked on Kellis, and his mouth quivered. "M-Mother," he whimpered as those blue eyes welled with tears.

Dominique glanced sidelong at Silesia meaningfully, curling her fingers tighter on the sickle. "Look at him," she said lowly. "He's starving to death, too weak to do anything the least bit troubling. Just...put it down." When the Sorceress continued to only glare, Dominique's eyes narrowed. She would fight Silesia if necessary, for his sake. "Does the word 'overkill' mean anything to you?" she hissed.

"Not when he tried to bite me. And _definitely_ not when I'm so very, very annoyed with you," she shot back fiercely. Silesia took a step back, uncrossed her sickles, but did not put them away. Warm blood was streaming steadily down her back, enraging her further. Her eyes were nearly glowing in the dark room. "You take your little fledgling out of my sight, Miss Kellis, before I complete my utterly justifiable act of beheading him."

Once the sharp pointy hazards to his life were away, Apollo threw his arms around Dominique and curled himself around her, sobbing as he clung tightly. The strength he held her with sent a swift look of pain across her face but she didn't push him away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...I was just s-so hungry," he wept.

She drew him against her and away from Silesia's rage and into her own guilt. Dominique held him close as she backed towards the room again, her eyes on the furious Sorceress. She had to get him out of here before he lost all control of himself. The blood-scent in the air was gaining strength rapidly. Her attention wavered momentarily when Trunks sidestepped her to let her pass and she stared up into his face.

He wasn't quite sure what his expression was, but he figured whatever Kellis was looking for there, she found. She returned her gaze to Silesia and finally shut the door. The click of the locking mechanism was nowhere near enough to stop them from coming inside, but it went a long way to establishing a drawn line: _Enter here and face the consequences._

Trunks gazed at the locked door for a moment before turning to Silesia. If she noticed the newly laid boundary, it didn't show in her expression. She was staring hard at the shattered window, her knuckles white on her sickles. His blue eyes wandered to the broken glass on the floor, the damage Apollo had wrought on entry. "Did he get you?" Trunks wanted to know.

She flicked an infuriated dark look at him and then away again. "What do you think?" she asked emotionlessly.

He took a sniff at the air and realized that his senses didn't have to be razor-sharp to know what'd happened. "I think you should bandage that shoulder where the piece of glass got you very soon, before you start getting lightheaded."

"And _I _think," she said in the same even tone, "you should shut the fuck up."

"Don't snap at me just because you're in a pissy mood," he told her with a frown, crossing steadily towards her. He took her by the elbow and whirled her around, even as she snarled and tensed in his grip. He held her in a way she wouldn't be able to slice into him without taking a chunk out of her own arm—and he didn't want a taste of those curved blades of hers. Trunks used his free hand to brush aside the exotic white of her hair and clear the area so he could see the wound better. "And don't bleed to death trying to be a badass."

"A bad..." Those furious eyes fixed on his face, narrowed as she bared her teeth at him. "I don't know what you think you're doing, Trunks, but I suggest you get off o—" Silesia's train of thought derailed viciously, and she was unable to stop the soft, startled sound that escaped as his fingers probed the wound.

His face was screwed up tight with concentration as he experimentally wiggled the thin shard of glass he could see through the still-streaming blood between his bloody fingertips. It was thin, but long and wedged deep into the meat of her shoulder—luckily, she'd escaped what could've been bad muscle damage. She'd gone rigid in his grip, so silent he'd nearly forgotten her in his examination. He was surprised she'd been able to hold her position of attack against Apollo as long as she had with her shoulder ripped into like this. Well, not so much "surprised" as "impressed"...

It needed to come out and soon. He dug his fingers a bit deeper and yanking at the glass, managed to tear it free. He tossed it away from him, one eye on the amount of blood flowing, and was distressed when she went suddenly limp against him. "Whoa!" He shifted his grip quickly, moving to band his arm around her waist to keep her supported when her legs gave out from beneath her. Her arms dropped inert at her sides, the sickles clattering to the floor as her head lolled weakly on his shoulder. "Silesia? Damn it! Can you hear me?"

"Exhausted," she managed as her vision swam in and out of focus. Her system was demanding rest, a time to heal. It wouldn't take long, only a few hours, but that was longer than Silesia was willing to sacrifice. She was on assignment, couldn't leave them alone without her to make sure they were going to be okay. But her vision was graying, the dizziness not passing. There was nothing she could do to stop it all. "Fuck... M'going under."

"Oh." For some reason, having her _tell _him she was going to pass out relieved him. "O-Okay," he said, his voice a little calmer. _Of course she's exhausted, _he reasoned with himself as he easily swept her off her feet. _She's been awake all night, making sure Kellis and I didn't kill each other. Add a hell of a lot of magic and injuries she hasn't had a chance to heal, and I'm only amazed she didn't conk out sooner. _"Don't worry. I've got you," he assured her as he watched her struggle to stay awake.

She shook her head, tried to protest, but her body had other ideas. Despite having her tell him she was going to lose consciousness, it was still frightening as all hell when she became complete dead weight in his arms. Trunks carted her to the couch and laid her carefully on her stomach. Then he went to find one of his many shirts to shred into a bandage. It wasn't much, but it kept him from feeling useless.

Trunks bound the wound tightly and pulled the fabric taut, using his teeth to snap the excess easily. He sat back on his haunches and stared at her for a long moment, his mouth twisting grimly.

New acquaintance or not, he did not like seeing her this..._helpless_. She was very gung-ho, take-charge, and had helped him a great deal in the span of the last few hours. She tolerated none of his nonsense without being coldhearted, was pretty damned capable of taking care of herself from what he'd seen. And what's more, he could detect none of the bitterness that seemed to weigh heavily upon people these days, only a powerful survivor's instinct and attitude—one that said she had come alive from something horrible.

And to gaze at her pale, vulnerable, and limp, her dainty features slightly tensed as if in pain... Trunks realized that he did not like it one damned bit.

* * *

It took her quite some time to get him calm enough to talk to her. He was crying far too much, clinging too hard for her to get anything informative out of him. So she stopped trying to talk to him for a little while, simply lying on the bed next to him, stroking her hand over his filthy hair until he began to quiet down. She offered him what blood she could spare, relieved when his eyes faded back to grey and color returned to his face. Then he lay against her, weeping for some time. 

When he calmed significantly, she opened her eyes and glanced down at him. His eyes were on her somewhat-mangled arm. Silently, he turned away from the sight and nuzzled against her and Dominique sighed at the feel of him there. She'd forgotten that comfort could go both ways... Finally, when she had recovered enough strength, she touched his face, bringing his gaze to hers.

Her voice was soft, gentle as she kept her eyes on his. "Apollo... what are you doing here?"

The teenage Vampire hid his face in the hollow of her throat, ashamed of himself. "I... I was hungry," he said hoarsely, flinching. "She was the only Human for miles and I didn't think. I just...I was so hungry."

Dominique turned her head so that her cheek rested against his hair. "I'm sorry, Apollo, I'm so sorry," she murmured, her arms going around him again, her right one with some difficulty. "I never meant to be captured, taken in with the Hunter. I didn't want to leave you. I worried about you, you and..." She stiffened suddenly, catching his face in her hands again. Oh, why hadn't it occurred to her before? "Apollo," she said, her voice low and serious. "Apollo, where's your sister? Where's Artemis?"

His features threatened to crumble into tears again, his breath hitching on a mournful sob. "I-I couldn't wake her up, Mother, she just wouldn't...I tried. I tried to wake her, Mother."

Dominique held him tight when he would've turned away, her eyes burning into his as she called on a line of power to hold his wavering attention. "Apollo, listen to me _very _carefully and answer my question. _Where is your sister_?"

Apollo stared at her, confused, until her question actually clicked in his brain. It took him a moment to come up with an answer and formulate the right words. "In an old building, Mother, in the city. We were hiding. I can take you there—I can try."

There was no hesitation, no thought to the consequences, only immediate concern for her Children and burning guilt for having ever left them. She pressed her forehead to his, held him for a moment. "Let's go."

* * *

Bulma had few faint memories of her Vampiric beginnings. She remembered angelic golden eyes that had glimmered down at her when she'd been trapped into a corner, startled and alone. The lethargic feeling of nothingness that had settled over her after the initial pain of fangs in her throat. And then she merely went to sleep, accepting that she was going to die and that was it. It hadn't been so bad, as she had a lived a long, hard life and was ready to die whenever she was to go. 

She stared down at Nina's cold corpse idly as she felt along the girl's prim little uniform for her pockets. The hot, heavy sleep had turned to cold, dark weight crushing her on all sides. The Vampire growled softly to herself as she shuddered with the memory of waking up six feet underground, unable to even scream or see. Bulma had been surrounded by darkness, alone and trapped in silence.

She'd fought for days, clawing and kicking, dirt and grit in her eyes and mouth and throat as she struggled to rise to the surface in a sea of hard soil, to find another world where she was no longer deaf and mute—a place where she could scream her pain and her terror, could weep as she so desperately wished to do. Weakness and a strange animal hunger had tugged at her throughout the excursion. There were moments when she'd paused to rest, something inside her compelling her to stay underground for several hours at a time before she was motivated to move again, feeding off whatever little creatures she managed to snag in the surrounding filth.

It took her four days, off and on, before she finally broke through the grassy, dusty surface. Her broken nails raked frantically over the ground, looking for any sort of leverage to bring herself out of the darkness, the silence. It had been nighttime and she was sitting in the middle of an old park she used to take her son to when he was a child. He had buried her there, beside the old abandoned flower garden and beneath the alder tree.

Sitting on the wet grass in the abandoned park, her hair and clothes and skin filthy and wretched, Bulma had tilted her head back, gazed at the night sky, and called pitifully for help. Even now her own words echoed crystal clear in her mind and the memory made her eyes dance between two shades of blue.

_Someone...please...Trunks? Oh, God, please...h-help me...Where are you, Trunks? Please...someone..._

She stared down at the dead intern on the floor next to her and smiled prettily. "You would've thanked me," she whispered to the corpse sweetly. "I did you a favor, didn't I? I made the loneliness go away."

Bulma stroked a hand over Nina's limp red hair, remembered the darkness she'd had to fight out of, the hours of mewling miserably for someone, anyone to save her—the heartbreaking realization that no one was coming for her. That no one would help her; they'd left her all alone. It was a good thing she had done, taking Nina before the loneliness got her. "You would've thanked me, sweetheart—just as I'll thank you for _this_." She reached into the final pocket and grinned at the security clearance badge between her fingers. "You really were a good girl, Nina." Her tongue traced over her lips, snatched up the last smears of blood there. "Very...helpful."

The Vampiress climbed to her feet and walked, shoving a handful of her turquoise hair out of her face as she smiled at the bespelled door. She entered the access code from the back panel of the security badge and giggled when it beeped its clearance. It was, really, all too easy.

Bulma waited a moment as the spell warding the door began to dissipate, her smile gone. She couldn't quell the quivering that trembled through her while the last dregs of the imprisoning spell teased over her, the promise of unimaginable anguish prickling at her skin. Had she attempted to breach the spell without the clearance, she would've been driven mad with pain—assuming it didn't kill her painfully and instantly. Angel of Mercy didn't fool around when they called on their licensed witches to bind the Vampires inside—they chose women who knew what they were doing.

And because of that, still she fretted. Who knew what other hidden spells were in place for instances just like this? There was no way she'd be able to tell, no, she was far too young. Bulma swallowed hard and took a careful step forward, closing her eyes as she braced for the unknown. She crossed over the barrier, waited but a second before her smile slowly returned. There was nothing holding her inside the room now, no trap spells or added layers of preternatural security. She went out into the hall and paused for a moment, glancing first left then right.

To the left was the distant glint of the elevator doors, the doors that would take her to the upper level/lobby where all the people were. Where the doctors were making their rounds, nurses were checking on patients. Where the people who thought so little of her worked. Where that one doctor was...Anna, was her name?

Bulma tapped a finger on her chin as she considered this with narrowed eyes. Bulma did not like Anna. She'd been cold, cruel and just plain mean. Not only had she been calloused in delivering the news of Trunks' condition, but she had locked Bulma in a room with a furious Dominique and left her there to suffer. No, she did not like Anna at all.

To the right was the trap-free, deserted hall that would lead to another pair of doors—and freedom. Those doors held the cool embrace of night that she was beginning to miss, the kiss of shadows, and a living, breathing unlimited supply of food—not to mention her baby boy was out there tonight.

Revenge or freedom. The feel of hot stolen blood dripping from her mouth and fingers or finally escaping the hellish nightmare that was Angel of Mercy, and perhaps seeing her son. Bulma could feel the loneliness tugging at her again, threatening to make her world a dark and cold place. She wanted to get out and she wanted Trunks.

Bulma closed her blue eyes, her finger still tapping her chin.

_Decisions, decisions..._

After a moment, she shook her head and opened her eyes. There was always time for revenge, but freedom was fleeting and usually difficult to grasp. She could always come back for the brunette doctor that had been so spiteful. But first she needed more blood, to regain and build her strength before she attempted to take down _anyone_—there was no doubt that the hospital had traps and precautions just in case the sort of thing she was planning happened. It wouldn't be worth the little blood she'd manage to obtain before they caught and/or wounded her. And if they hadn't caught her by then, they definitely would get her injured. It was common sense and survival instinct that if they injured her in this place, they would kill her.

And the promise of not only blood, but to see her son... It won out over everything, even comeuppance for the deserving. Trunks always won out over everything. She missed him a great deal.

Bulma turned to the right and whistled a soft tune as she moved for the doors. She shoved them open and went still a moment, drinking in the darkness and the kiss of the night's chill that she hadn't known she'd missed so desperately. She moved and let the doors fall closed behind her, grinning. She would come back another night...and if she played her cards right, she wouldn't be coming back alone.

* * *

Though the expression was far too complicated for one as mind-broken as she to manage, Livvy sat slouched at her Mommy's feet and gave off the aura of a sulk. Her electric blue eyes were narrowed into fierce slits, her ruined mouth twisted into what would be a pout on another's face. On her own, insane and marred, the effect was more disturbing than prettily moping. 

She twisted her head to squint up at her Mommy, saw the impatient look on her beautiful face, and went back to brooding. The current source of Mommy's impatience and her own unusual sullenness was writhing on the floor in his own blood and in wretched agony, back bowed up from the floor and wide brown eyes wild with pain as a strangled scream caught in his throat. Livvy was not fond of this thing, this creature, this-this...

New fledgling-in-the-making.

It held Mommy's attention far too much for Livvy's liking and she sulked as she watched the humanity in the man's eyes die, watch the flare of electric blue akin to her own replace the whiskey brown, and growled lowly in her throat.

With a distracted glance down, Satin laid her hand on Livvy's matted blonde head as she watched her newest creation slowly recollect himself. He'd been an impulse Change, and in that, she'd mildly surprised herself. But Satin Sin was never one to pass up a good opportunity.

He was different than her first two fledglings—dusky of complexion and lean of build with light muscles and scars that spoke of a life spent fighting for everything. His shoulders were touched slightly by wavy black hair much like her own from the olden days, and he had lovely shifting eyes that seemed unable to stay a singular shade of brown. His voice, when he'd shouted at her in panic, had been deep and spiced with a strong touch of some Hispanic ancestry. He had attracted her, and now he was hers till she grew weary of him.

Satin patted Livvy's head absently, her impatience melding into an expression of pleasure as his aura flared, kissed her skin with its power. "Now, now, little one... I'll tolerate no jealousy."

Livvy slouched lower, her soulless eyes malicious on the whimpering, trembling wreck on the floor and her fangs flashing. She didn't remember her own creation, her mind a mess of smeared images and sensations and her only clear memory after awakening—through the pain and the mesh of madness—was of looking up, feral, scared, and lost, into her Mommy's infuriated cobalt eyes—eyes that melted into warm gold when she was in a good mood.

_Enough! I will not tolerate any foolishness from you. I gave you life and I will snatch it away just as easily should you give me a reason, _Mommy had hissed at her, angry for a reason to this moment Livvy didn't understand and didn't care about. _Your name is Livvy..._

And from that moment, hurting and confused and senseless, Livvy had loved her, feared her, and trusted her absolutely. The lovely woman that called herself Satin Sin, who took Livvy beneath her razor-sharp wing and showed her the sinful, glorious world of blood and mortals, of stolen life and the rapture of the hunt. And Livvy did not want to share her with another fledgling, didn't want to share her with anybody. Her Mommy was hers, hers and not this... thing's.

"_Mine_," she seethed angrily between her teeth as the newborn Vampire crawled to his knees, panting for breath around the pain.

"Livvy." Satin's voice chilled slightly, a warning for her to cease this foolishness before her patience was at its end. She left the silently disgruntled Livvy to crouch down at the side of the weakened man, nodding as the gash she'd torn across his chest healed, completing the same Severed ritual she'd initiated upon Livvy. However, unlike with Livvy, the ritual did not part this one and his senses—merely erased his Human existence and gave him no knowledge or memory of life before her, which was exactly what she wished.

To this eve, Satin did not know what had gone wrong with Livvy or what caused her first fledgling in over a century to be as utterly mad as she was.

But with this one, all was well, his aura weak with the weariness of the Change and being newborn, but beneath that—the promise of great power.

Satin made soft, soothing noises as his arms trembled with the strain of holding his weight and he whimpered gratefully as she eased him down across her lap, stroking his dark hair with gentle fingers. "There, there," she murmured, her voice honey-sweet and comforting. "Poor weary thing."

His eyes, when they opened wearily, were brilliantly cobalt and glazed. "Who...?" he rasped, his accented voice thick. _Beauty_, he thought vacantly as he struggled to focus on the pale face above his, as the pain began to ebb in her embrace. _Savior..._

"Who are you?" Satin tilted her head as her ocher eyes studied his face, as her influence clouded and molded his mind to her liking. "Why, your name is Aulicus, darling..." She lowered her face near his, touched her cool lips to his forehead, twisted to nuzzle at his ear, ignoring the hissing snarl from Livvy behind them. He stared up at her through low-lidded eyes, awed and obedient. "And you are mine."

Livvy's fingers twitched and clawed at the floor as she hunched into herself, her snarl increasing in volume when Satin pressed her lips to those of her newest fledgling and kissed him with enthusiasm. _"Mommmmmy," _she whined, low and long when the new one kissed her back. "No, no, no, no, no!"

Satin turned lazily to stare at her through eyes shifting between languid gold and hot blue. "Silence, Livvy, you stupid little thing... I've no more patience for your nonsense."

She threaded her fingers through the young Vampire's hair, familiarizing him with her scent, touch, the sound of her voice—binding him tighter with a silent spell that would keep him fastened to her in all ways. It was something she hadn't even bothered to do with Livvy's Change—it would have been pointless. But with this one, though she had no doubt that he would never part from her side, needed to be

Satin lowered her lashes as Livvy whimpered and ducked her head with a pitiful sniffle. "I will have no more of this, Livvy. He is here to stay as long as I see fit." Satin smiled darkly down at the man draped over her lap, her voice a sultry purr as she stroked her fingers over his hair, his face. "Isn't that right, Aulicus?"

He was drifting off in her lap, warm and calmed and drowning in her gorgeous eyes. But before his lashes fanned over tanned cheeks, before he fell into his recovery sleep, his blue eyes were intense on her face as he whispered thickly, "Yes...my Mistress..."

* * *

Running with her right arm next to useless was awkward but that didn't stop her. She and Apollo darted from rooftop to rooftop, her pausing once in a while to let him catch up. He wasn't as practiced as she and had some trouble maneuvering without slipping. Dominique reached back more than a few times to catch him by the wrist when he would've fallen. The falls wouldn't have killed him, but they wouldn't have helped him much either. They ran for near on twenty minutes before Apollo stopped, his mouth turned down worriedly.

Dominique sighed and scrubbed a hand over her face. Beside her, he looked left and right and all around, nearly turning a damned circle. "...you're lost, Apollo," she said flatly as he continued to look alarmed a few minutes later.

"It...It was here," he mumbled to himself, turning himself around. His gray eyes narrowed as he looked across the sea of empty streets and crumbling skyscrapers. "Around here somewhere. No." He tilted his head, bit his lip as he racked his brain. "No...it was bigger, rounder."

"Rounder?" Dominique, who'd been standing with her hand on her hips, turned to glance sideways at him with a roll of her eyes. She was trying hard, so very hard, not to lose patience with him. She couldn't really fault him for not remembering, as young as he was, but she was impatient. She let out a long breath. "Rounder how?"

Apollo gestured with his hands, something akin to a dome-shape. "Like this, but bigger. Was pretty big—almost like a complex, Mother. Had faded writing on the sides, a little...run-down, I believe."

Dominique blinked slowly at him. _There's no way he could be talking about... _"Apollo. What color was this building?" she demanded quietly.

His face screwed up again and he scratched his head. His recollection of those days was difficult, a streak of blurrily painful, exhausting hours that seemed to have no end. "I think...yellow?"

She closed her eyes. There was only one building like that in this city—in any city for miles. _Capsule Corporation. _"Goddamn it, Apollo," she sighed, exasperated as she frowned at him. "Artemis is _there_?"

His expression piqued with hope. "You know where it is, Mother?" he pleaded, tugging at her good hand. "You know that place?"

Dominique couldn't look into those trusting eyes and tell him he had taken his sister to where _the Hunter _lived. He would never forgive himself for leaving her there, in what he didn't understand was technically enemy territory... Dominique was having a hard enough time dealing with her own guilt as it stood.

She glanced over her shoulder, her senses attuned. But she knew where Trunks and Silesia were and from the look she'd gotten of the Specialist, the pair of them weren't up to chasing after her at the moment—and if her usually shitty luck held for once, they wouldn't notice she was gone until she had her Children and had gotten them far away and safe.

"Yes," she said slowly, turning back to frown at Apollo. He really was like a child, so lost and afraid and hopeful—painfully innocent. "I know that place. Let's go—I don't like the thought of her being alone much longer." _Or the consequences of what will happen if she's followed the same line of thought as her brother... God help whomever Artemis gets her hands on. _Dominique closed her eyes against the thought. There were few creatures as malicious and deadly as a blood-mad Vampire fledgling turned loose. Damning the awkwardness of her wounded arm, she grabbed Apollo by the wrist and, turning in the right direction, renewed the chase with fervent vigor._ Just a little while longer, Artemis, _she willed her fledgling._ We're coming back to you.  
_

* * *

Yes, yes, I know, still no Artemis. You'll find her sooner or later, guys!! 

On another note: Forgive me, but it must be addressed. "Kellis needs to get laid,maybe Artemis or Apollo or me lol" and "OMG u should make a Kellis and Livvy/Satin pairing!!" ...kay. I love getting emails, reviews, and the like from you guys—quite inspiring all in all and helps me develop my work better and this applies mainly to one person, but I've just got to say it.

I keep getting an email from this one guy who keeps telling me those same facts over...and over...and over again every time I post a chapter. That and professing his oh-so-disturbing love for Satin... I mean, really. I've come to believe he's seriously in love with her. It's kind of...creepy. So! I don't mind emails filled with suggestions or comments or questions, but the same email from the same person about the same thing again and again? ...eh. Not so much. If the mood should strike you into wanting to email me or making a review, then thank you and I dearly appreciate it! I do! Just please don't...stalk me via my email and repeatedly tell me the **_frightening_ **fantasies you have involving _you having sex with my characters or tattooing their names in your flesh...  
_

Thanks. Appreciated greatly.

ForeverNDarkness

PS: And for the record—I will _never _pair Kellis with Artemis or Apollo. _Never_. _**Ever**_. **_Ever_**. So you don't even have to worry about that.


	15. Illusion of Innocence

FND: Well, well, here we are again, ladies and gents: the newest installment of Vampire Hunter! It's been a long time in coming--sorry 'bout that--but things here have been a little hectic. Lot of issues here and there, quite a few bumps, but I made it! Thanks for bearing with me, guys, I know it's not easy being patient with me. Don't worry, I've still got more VH stored up in this old noggin of mine.

A special thanks to Shahi for once again giving me a little nudge, helping me get my words straight, and most importantly, for inspiring me. I don't know what I'd do without you.

* * *

Chapter 15 

_Illusion of Innocence _

* * *

_**The screaming has stopped.**_

Pausing, she tilted her head up, ear lifted to catch the whispers of sound. Her matted dark hair stuck to her face with blood and thicker things she didn't know the name of, and didn't care. Things that sated the hunger. Her eyes were empty, endless blue that glowed in the heated dark as a cat's would in the right light. The noises traveled to her easily in the stifling blackness of the halls. The wind, a ripple of power that plucked a string in her belly, but that was all. No, no, she was right... the screaming had stopped.

A low guttural noise flowed from her throat as she inhaled deeply the comforting coppery scent of insane amounts of blood. The sound was muffled by the quiet, scratching sound of her fangs scraping, gnawing, on a broken fragment of bone. It had once been a hand, a wrist, an arm. Something. It had been whole and layered with delicious flesh and blood before she'd gotten her teeth on it, drank it dry and shredded the meaty skin. It had belonged to someone and she had torn it all away.

She growled again, her fingers turning over the skeletal remains in her mouth as her teeth cracked its so fragile frame to search for any remaining traces of life, of blood. She was curled on her side, draped over a trio of corpses long dead as she took advantage of the brief respite from the blinding hunger that drove her on. Her eyes swept over the walls, took in the blood splattered, the sweet ripe scent of rotting flesh, the festering contents of bowels she'd torn through with her own fingers simply for the sake of doing so.

There was only one still living in this particular hall with her—and that would be remedied soon enough, had she given it the appropriate thought necessary. She saw the glazed and dull eyes, scented the approaching reek of death above the annoying buzzing flies. It wasn't surprising as it had been _his_ insides she had spilled all over the cracked linoleum floor.

He had been easy to lure, easily called with one glance from her burning blue eyes when he'd wandered in. He hadn't screamed, struggled, fought in the least. No resistance. Weak prey and an easy meal. Missing an arm, his arm. She spat the bone out, one leg draped over his shredded, gory middle and shifted, restless again.

_**The screaming has stopped. More. More screaming, more hot blood. Want it, need it, more, more, more...**_

She rolled from her prone position to her feet in a lithe move that she would've usually bumbled. She moved, stepped over a decomposing lump of flesh with wide staring eyes. No time to stop and scavenge. No, no, her mind was fevered again, focused and centered on one thing and one thing alone. Feeding, had to feed now on fresh blood, tear past warm flesh. Had to feed. Feeding kept away the pain, hurry, hurry before it came back, the twisting, wrenching pain and insatiable hunger. Had to feed, had to—

A scream.

Not old enough to possess the stillness of the ancients, she went motionless nonetheless. Her head tilted again, concentration nearly absolute on the echoing, desperate sound.

Her soft hiss filled the thick air as her senses rolled through the building. One living left. One still-beating heart pumping sweet, heady blood. Her fingers curled and the light flared to demonic brightness in her eyes.

_**Mine.**_

* * *

"Shit, shit, shit, shit..." 

Apollo's breathing was ragged, his voice soft and high as he chanted the same word over and over, clinging to Dominique like a drowning man to a life raft. His hands were fisted in the torn remnants of her white coat, his body crushed closely against her back as he closed his eyes and hid his face, still swearing desperately.

Dominique stared grimly up at the archway to what once was a bustling, thriving multibillion-dollar company. It hadn't been that long ago that she'd come to this place one night in need of a place to stay and safety and now, now the very archway she'd walked under was dripping blood onto her with the very slow consistency of thick crimson syrup. As she looked up at it, cold blood dotted her face and neck and she could feel Apollo violently flinch at each drop that touched him as if it scalded his skin. From her vantage point and with her nearly flawless night-vision, she could make out the maggot-riddled flesh of a days' old corpse atop the archway.

The front yard, torn up and choked with weeds, looked as if a very big child had thrown a tantrum and in a fit, had flung all their toys around. But the limp and mangled forms dotting the outer building's walls and dead grass weren't toys. Toys didn't bleed like that, toys didn't leak all sorts of bodily fluids on the once-shiny walls and, glancing down at one discard in particular, Dominique noted that toys did not wear permanent looks of open-mouthed horror set in with rigor mortis.

Her eyes were narrowed as they slowly panned the yard, the entrance. Someone had been very busy while she was away. And thanks to the Hunter's reputation, he had no neighbors around to notice the carnage and call the police.

A high scream pierced the air suddenly, startling and obscene in the heavy tension. Her head snapped towards the sound, her eyes flaring blue on instinct as she drew in a breath of approaching power. The pretty glass doors several feet away had been shattered long ago, leaving a yawning gap and thick darkness. A heavy, scraping sound gained volume and there was the slick sound of flesh on tile. Someone was dragging themselves to the door—or being dragged.

Apollo still would not look up, his swearing reduced to a fierce, rambling stream of consciousness. He was speaking without thought, whatever came to mind—whatever chased the sight and smells and sounds away.

Dominique stood silent, only her head turned towards the gaping door. A trembling hand thrust out from the darkness, missing a few fingers and covered in dirt and grime. Another followed, clinging desperately to the ground as the door filled with panting, hurried breathing. The hands strained again and a bloody, tear-stained face appeared from the dark. Dominique stared into the wide, terrified eyes and felt a stir of pity. The broken male struggling to pull himself free could be no older than Artemis and Apollo were.

The teenager sobbed breathlessly as his tired muscles burned with the effort of dragging his useless body. He managed something akin to a push-up, lifting himself slightly. He could see the woman, only just barely, and stretched out one weak hand to her, whimpering. "P-Please..." he wheezed. She was just staring at him. The boy behind her lifted his dark head and stared at him as well. Neither moved. "He...Help me!"

The only warning he had was the widening of the woman's glowing eyes before hot pain stabbed him in the center of his back. A strangled scream escaped him before his world went silent and gray.

Apollo made a low, pained sound in his throat, gray eyes wide in horror as he gazed at the hand sticking from the teen's chest, at the gory heart clenched firmly in those dirty fingers. "You...Y-You just..."

Dominique didn't so much as flinch, her eyes instead on the young face visible just above the still-warm corpse. The hand, trophy in grasp, retreated from the teen's ruined chest cavity and brought the bloody organ to her lips as the body collapsed sluggishly to the floor. Dominique called out softly, "Artemis."

Her hand stilled, the heart an inch from her lips. Her empty blue eyes rolled up at the summons, focused on the dark-haired woman. The young Vampire's power spilled forward like water. Dominique shuddered lightly as her fledgling called to her and after a moment, she answered, meeting Artemis's aura with a fraction of her own. There was a moment of stillness as the mist of their powers twined with each other before Artemis dropped the heart as if it burned her and flinched away with a soft cry.

Dominique's eyes were slits of flaming blue as she stared down at her Daughter. She couldn't hide her anger, couldn't take the sting of it from her aura when it touched Artemis. There weren't enough lies in the world to make her believe that the anger was only at herself as she took in the sight of her fledgling. She was a grimy, gory mess. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders and caked stiff with all sorts of bodily mess, her young face streaked with it. Her fangs were bared and blood-painted, her clothes torn and stained an unrecognizable color. There was nothing in those glowing blue eyes but a predator lurking behind a child's face.

Artemis trembled, her shoulders hunching as she hugged herself tight and offered a feral growl, territorial even as she trembled in the face of the Vampire that created her.

"You would challenge me," Dominique murmured with thoughtful annoyance. "For this reeking pit of filth. You must have lost your damned mind."

The voice that trickled from between those fangs could never be mistaken for human. "_Mine_."

"Yes," she replied, her eyes trailing over the chaos again, "it certainly is." Her eyes flicked back to Artemis and she began to walk towards her, slow, careful steps. It was only Human paranoia that had kept Artemis safe from the authorities so far; but this many missing people would not go unnoticed for much longer. "Come on, Artemis. I need to get you out of here." Artemis took a step back for every step forward the older Vampire took, snarling at her until she was backed against the side of the building, half-crouched.

"Artemis, don't you dare growl at her," Apollo suddenly spoke up, his voice quivering too much to be as fierce as he wanted. He walked swiftly, coming to stand even with Dominique, his dark brows drawn down. She stopped him with a firm hand on his arm as Artemis snapped her teeth at him. He looked sideways at Dominique as if for just a moment, he would disobey and keep going. But his mouth twisted and he went quiet.

Dominique's grip on his arm gentled a bit, her eyes still on Artemis. It was a little surreal that her mind already placed Artemis deep enough in the "Dangerous" category that Dominique didn't dare turn her attention away from her. "She's not thinking straight. Just like you, she doesn't know what she's doing." Dominique allowed her eyes to spill back to green, and with a long sigh, her power faded away. She was too tired to keep up the contact. "If you were to go to her now, she would kill you without hesitation." Her own voice was calm, matter-of-fact, as if she were talking about a stranger.

Apollo glanced at her briefly and hung his head. He didn't need to ask Mother why Artemis would kill him. It was plain enough in the fluttering in his twitching stomach; Artemis was the strong one now and he was weak. She would kill him for being weak, for not being strong enough to stop her. It hurt his heart to look at her, his little sister, and this-this... His Mother's voice, low and cold, brought him back from his self-pity. "Y-Yes, Mother?"

Dominique was tugging away the layers of white bandage on her right arm as she spoke. "I said I may need your help afterwards. It'll be dawn very shortly and you'll need to sleep soon—we all will. But I might need a bit of help getting inside."

His gray eyes slid to the daunting complex, reeking of old blood and decay, and fought back a shudder as he turned from the wide, dead staring eyes watching him. "We're staying here?"

"Damn it, Apollo, this is not the time." She pulled away the last layer of stained bandage, tugging lightly to dislodge the end from the healing skin. It did as she intended and broke open the wound, just enough to start a tiny trickle of blood leaking. As she expected, Artemis tore her eyes away from Apollo and focused on the scent of fresh blood. "That's right. This is what you want, isn't it?" Her tone was coaxing, tempting with a lace of Vampiric power as she crooked a finger at Artemis.

The teen could not resist the call. She pressed off the wall and moved with animal speed. Dominique braced for impact and was still taken to the ground by the momentum. She sat up as best she could, refusing to be laid flat like prey. The temptation for Artemis to tear her heart out while she was down and weak would have been too great for Artemis to resist.

There was a second of feeling Artemis' lips on her arm before her teeth bit in and Dominique lashed out to grab a great fistful of her hair as a rope to yank her off when the time came. She couldn't afford to lose much more blood, at least not tonight. Artemis had gotten in three good swallows when Dominique jerked on her hair. She whimpered, but wouldn't be dislodged so easily. But Dominique was no longer in the mood to be nice and patient. "Get _off_ of me!" she bellowed in her face and yanked harder, hard enough to rip Artemis' head back at a painful angle and make her scream.

Artemis fell back and rolled over onto her side. She writhed and whimpered, her soiled fingers clutching her throbbing head even as the new blood chilled her fevered mind. She was sobbing by the time Dominique found the strength to steady herself enough to see straight. "Take her in," Dominique ordered hoarsely to Apollo. She watched as Apollo crouched beside Artemis and wrapped an arm around her, murmuring softly and quietly, his expression pained to see his twin so upset. She clung to him and whimpered his name and apologies as he took a moment to rock with her in his arms.

Dominique watched them go and made a soft, disgusted sound. She was disgusted with herself as she watched them huddle together for safety and comfort while they walked. They were babies, children in the horrible world of blood and violence she'd thrust them into. Her mind flashed back to Artemis's eyes, where all traces of the child she'd been were stripped away. _So goddamn young and already dead...I've killed them, _she decided bitterly and let the dizziness take her.

* * *

_He glared furiously at her back as he stood in the door to the workroom, his soccer ball at his feet and his low voice abnormally defiant."...don't know why I can't go out and play in the park?"_

"_Because I said no and that's why you can't go."_

_His mouth twisted into a fierce sulk as he huffed and crossed his arms angrily. Being cooped up inside had sorely fouled his mood and uglied his usual calm disposition. The radio reports of more deaths and chaos only worsened his demeanor until he was rapidly defining the word 'brat'. He indulged in a rare display of temper and stamped his feet, not caring if the old tile chipped beneath his tattered sneakers. "It's not fair!" he shouted at her._

_His mother sighed and scrubbed a hand over her face before she turned and looked at him impatiently over one shoulder. Her blue eyes were lined and tired. "In case you haven't noticed, honey, _life_ isn't fair. And I know for a fact that you don't want to go play out there, you want to go help people, and you just can't do that, sweetheart. We've been over this before and I don't want to go over it again." _

_She knew she should've dismantled that goddamn radio, should've stopped him from listening to the horrible reports. He was too sensitive for them, but whenever she banned him from listening, he always found some way to hear the day's grim news. It'd gotten to be too big a hassle to stop him, and she'd just let him go.  
_

_But she wasn't about to risk his safety because he was cared so much about other people that her seven-year-old son was willing to fight killer androids he'd never seen before. She wasn't going to risk losing him too._

_Frustrated, she gestured at him crossly with the grease-stained wrench in her gloved hand as he clenched his fists and growled at her. "This is the third time today, young man, that you've come in here and bugged me about going outside, and this is the third time—and last time—I will tell you, damn it, that the answer is no!"_

"_No? No, no, no! That's all I hear out of you!" he howled, his face turning an alarming shade of red. "I'm sick of not doing anything, sick of being locked away in this stupid old piece of shit building—"_

_She got to her knees and scowled fiercely, eyes narrowed. "You watch your mouth, young man!" she ordered sharply._

"—_sick of not being able to go outside, and I'm just plain sick of _**you**_!" He kicked his soccer ball with all his might and watched it crash loudly into her toolbox, scattering her few and precious working materials into her current work with a horrendous ringing _CLANG_ and a shower of sparks. _

_She just stared down at her destroyed invention for a moment, hands limp in her lap, before she turned back to gaze at him. The child was still in the grips of his volatile, extraordinary temper, breathing heavily as he glared fury at her through the blue eyes she'd given him. "You never do anything, you just let them all die." His tone was bitter as he spat at her. "_**Dad**_ tried to protect everybody!"_

_There was no anger in her face, only a resigned weariness. They'd been through this argument before and nothing would come of it anymore than the last time they'd fought over right and wrong. "It's not my job to protect everybody," she said with a sigh, tugging off her gloves. Work was pointless now. "It wasn't my job to protect your father, either. I just protect you."_

"_You're nothing but a coward!"_

_The hot, resentful insult made her body flinch, her face fall sadly. That had hurt her where nothing else he'd done or said had. She had done so much, come through so much, running had been for the best. She knew that logically, but 'coward' was something she still called herself when she saw her reflection in a broken mirror. But she'd never thought she'd hear it from her own child.  
_

_He saw her face, her pain, and his lower lip trembled even as he struggled to maintain his glare. His eyes were stinging with treacherous tears and he mopped them away furiously with the back of his hand. And then he left his arm over his eyes, unable to look at her while his tiny chest heaved with angry sobs. _

_He didn't want to hurt her, not really. He was just so...angry. So many people were dying and they weren't doing anything to stop it. All he and his mom did was run and hide. She didn't understand what it was like to know that you had the power to do something, but you never tried to help. _He_ was the coward, not her. _

_Her long arms curled around him and pulled him down to her lap, where he curled up, hid his face in the curve of her neck and just sobbed. She rocked with him in her arms, one hand making soothing circles on his little back as she murmured soft nonsense in his ear. _

_He cried as if his little heart were breaking in two, and it was much too big a burden for such a small boy to bear, to take on the guilt and the responsibility of all those lives. Despite the odds, she knew that one day he would try to save the world all on his stubborn own anyway, even if she begged him not to go._

_After all, he was his father's son._

* * *

It had been a long time since he'd thought about her. In a sense, when she had died, it had truly been the end of her. _Oh, but no...it hadn't been the end of her_, he recalled faintly. _Still walking, still talking, still here...But she's not Mom anymore.  
_

Trunks lay on his back on the dusty floor, one arm thrown over his face. He could see the vaguest hint of the ceiling out the corner of one blurry eye, but he was only half-aware, in that foggy state between deep thinking and dreaming. He remembered more than ever the sensation of being safe and loved in his mother's warm arms. He was perfectly, undeniably safe from the world when she'd held him, secure in the knowledge that she would protect him. That was all he needed.

And now, almost sixteen years later, he knew briefly and with a deep, sharp pang that it would never be that way again. Her arms were now cold and stiff, her embrace no longer a haven but a trap. The scent on her skin of oil and vanilla was forever replaced by the soft, subtle scent of death. She wouldn't protect him; he needed to protect himself..._from_ her. It was too much of a revelation for his hazy mind. He didn't want to think of a time when being young and loved meant he was guarded against all harm. He didn't want to think of the days when not knowing how evil the world was made it not so scary. Trunks didn't want to think of the moments in his life when he was 'innocent'... It made his life now so much harder and much more painful.

He felt the approach of dawn, each creeping second a soft pulse in his chest. As only a Halfling, he would not be forced to sleep every time the sun rose. But as Trunks Briefs, he was exhausted in every sense of the word, and this time he would allow the dawn to take him under, and away from all these unbidden memories.

Trunks heard Silesia stirring quietly up on the couch, shifting with a hissed curse. She would be awake soon, and she could take care of the rest. Trunks knew that Kellis was gone, he knew it in the settled pit of his stomach. It was all too quiet, too calm; her power was no longer tugging at him. But it was no longer his concern, his problem. Not right now. He closed his heavy eyes and sighed softly, lowering his guard for the first time in a long time. He could sleep deeply now, and not worry about a thing. Someone else would take care of it. Trunks felt the very second the warm shining sun peeked over the horizon, and then he blissfully knew no more.

* * *

FND: Whew. Ch. 15 down and 16 to be up around this time next week. 15 wasn't as long as I wanted it to be, but I think I did okay. I seem to have regained my "roll" for putting out chapters, ladies and gents. Thanks for the patience and please stay tuned for the next installment of VH! Reviews welcome and appreciated, thanks! 


	16. Daytime Duties

FND: Well, hello there, ladies and gents.

First of all, though I am an hour or so late--it's 1 AM--and depending on when you read this, August 31st was officially the 4th Anniversary of VH!!

Good lord, I've had this story for 4 years... Amazing, isn't it? And VH wouldn't be here without you all, the readers and reviewers, so I wanted to take this time to thank you guys for all the reviews, emails, and encouragements. They all really mean a lot.

Second, yes, the chapter was nearly done on Sunday, but a very, very dear friend of mine had been seriously injured and is in the hospital, has been all week. She's on life support. I'm very worried about her and I've been spending my time with her family and threatening bodily harm to her doctors on a regular basis, so I'm sorry that the chapter wasn't up as originally thought and it was a few days late. But I've gotten it up now and I hope you all enjoy!

Thanks, as always!

* * *

Chapter 16 

_Daytime Duties_

* * *

Silesia was barely sitting up, her shoulder slightly hunched as she blinked blindly in the light of the early dawn and the hazy remnants of the intricate healing spell that had formed in her sleep. 

The first words out of her mouth happened to be a long string of inventive curses.

_It's fucking morning_, she informed herself, frustrated at her body's slow response time. _Time to wake up. Time to get off my ass and do things. _Her blue-grey eyes dropped down to the floor and appraised the sleeping Hunter. _Time to consider kicking him in the throat from butting in to my business. _Silesia didn't like being taken care of, especially when she could damn well do it herself. She stretched her arms above her head and was relieved when there was no twinge or promise of pain.

She reached up with one hand and tugged off the long strips of torn t-shirt Trunks had used to bandage her shoulder. When they were gone, she ran a hand over the pale skin of her shoulder. Smooth, unmarked flesh. No one could ever say that she didn't know what she was doing when it came to magic. A wry smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. Silesia would bet two assignments' pay that Sinclair had thrown a bitch fit when she'd realized her little fledgling was marked for life by sorceress's magic and that there was nothing the Vampiress could do to stop it. It made the promise of Silesia's day just a little brighter to know she'd done her duty and thoroughly pissed off a sadistic, powerful Vampiress with more than five centuries under her belt. Silesia felt accomplished.

_No_, she corrected herself with a mental sigh. _If I want to feel accomplished, I'd get up because I've got things to do. _She reached down onto the floor beside the couch and picked up the VZ Controller where she'd left it the night before. Silesia flicked the second dial on the side of the device and glanced at the green screen. No little dot appeared, no tinny annoying beeping sounded. This meant Kellis had taken her fledgling and run for it. Silesia had known that when she'd awakened and not felt the Vampiress's aura anywhere near her. But it never hurt to be sure, she supposed, and with the coming of the dawn, her job was done... usually.

She had to get Trunks back to Angel of Mercy, Jackie, and Anna. Kellis needed to go back into the Vamp Ward, where she belonged. That would officially end her assignment. There were, however, a few other complications. The greatest of which was the loosed Chryssatin Sinclair and her insane fledgling. There would need to be a task force or some such thing alerted and told their last whereabouts.

Another interesting complication was the boy called Apollo, Kellis' fledgling... Well, if Silesia knew her superiors, then the boy would be executed with extreme prejudice. He had no purpose and the eventual goal was to rid the world of _all_ Vampires, not just the mean and sadistic ones. She'd accept the task if ordered to do so, because that was her job. But Silesia wouldn't go looking for the boy to kill; killing kids of any race didn't really sit well with her unless it was self-defense.

_Speaking of self-defense..._ Pushing herself to her feet, Silesia padded across the dusty floor to retrieve one of her two sickles. She stared down at the curved blade, the tiniest of dark, dark drops along the blade. She'd nicked the boy before Kellis had interrupted. Silesia turned her eyes from the slightly stained sickle, back down to the unconscious/comatose Hunter. She had a feeling he had just been too exhausted to fight off the dawn—or he had used it for escape.

She spent a moment watching him, wondering what he would have done if she'd gone through and executed the fledgling anyway. Yes, he was emotional and painfully Human. But he was also the Hunter and he didn't get that way by being hesitant and amazingly trusting. At the same time, he was something of a knee-jerk asshole. Sort of like a knee-jerk alarmist, but with more half-assed assumptions and biting words meant to hurt.

Silesia knew that if she ever had to do another assignment with him, she'd be more prepared for dealing with Mr. Trunks Briefs. He would probably be good to have at her back in a fight—once he'd gotten used to Vampirism and was back in the habit of fighting again. Right now, he was just too vulnerable. There was a moment of stillness as she repeated that train of thought in her head again. He was vulnerable, weak, slow, and in the infant stages of Vampirism.

Silently, she moved until she stood over him, widening her stance before she crouched down. His breathing was still deep and even, undisturbed. Silesia squinted at him through narrowed eyes, her head tilted to one side. Without making a sound, she flexed her fingers over the handle of her sickle, still watching him. If she had to, she would kill Apollo, the teenage fledgling of Dominique Kellis. He was weak, couldn't defend himself—and as she had known, the final goal was to purge the world of _all _Vampires... Did that include Halflings?

Silesia lifted her sickle and rested the sharp tip in the center of his chest, felt the weapon move with every breath he took. She was absolutely silent and still, watching him as she held a blade just above his heart. Saiyan, Vampire, Human, whatever he was, a slice through the heart would kill him. The question was...could _she _be the one to land that blow? If the call went out for the Halfling to be taken down with the rest of the Vampires, Silesia wondered for the first time if she would answer.

It was her job, her duty, to protect the world from Vampires and their minions. The only thing she would be able to offer him, if his head did have a price on it eventually, was that she be the one to set him free. She would take him out quickly and painlessly, which was what most of her comrades would not give him. And Trunks deserved to be set free one day. What kind of fucked up existence did he really have here in life?

Silesia removed her blade and got to her feet, her dainty features impassive. She could always add more duties to her large list; her newest was that the Hunter, Trunks Briefs, would die by her hand and no one else's... She owed him that much, for all he'd done for the world.

She laid her weapon on the sofa and rolled her tense shoulders as she snatched up her bag from the floor. She would take a blistering hot shower and then she would tackle the rest of her assignment and her day.

* * *

Kennedy closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall he was leaning on. He scrubbed a hand over his tired face, over the scratchy stubble that darkened his jaw line. He hadn't even gotten a chance to shave yet before he'd been called in. This was not promising to be a good day for him. 

Or, he conceded, for the traumatized fifty-year-old janitor that had found the corpse. Kennedy usually would have thought it was disrespectful to exclude the deceased intern across the room from the list of people having a bad day, but he was too exhausted to really give a damn—she didn't have to worry about anything anymore, now did she? It was up to the rest of them to deal with the mess left at Angel of Mercy. Anna was in the staff room with the hysterical janitor, leaving Kennedy, VME Trenton, and a photographer with the deceased. The lieutenant actually envied Anna her frantic employee.

VME Trenton was bound by law to record the steps of his exam, meticulously going through motions that were, in all honesty, unnecessary. He clicked on the recorder tucked in the lapel of his coat as he snapped on his gloves. Daniels adjusted his lenses silently. The lanky blonde photographer had been on the job more than long enough to know that a murder scene wasn't the place to be filled with mindless chatter and pointless small talk. Some people believed that silence around a murder scene was eerie, but for the men crammed together in the room, it was just the norm.

What made it awkward was when people attempted to fill in the gaps with fake halfhearted chuckles and conversations about things none of them gave a damn about anymore. Daniels himself wasn't a man of many words and he sure as hell wouldn't find them over the lifeless body of a girl his daughter's age.

Trenton opened his field kit, settled in, and launched professionally into procedure. "Angel of Mercy Hospital, Vampire Ward, January 25th, 6:47 AM. Vampiric Medical Examiner Nathaniel Trenton, examination witness Lieutenant Jack Kennedy and photographer Ken Daniels, for a reported code 187—homicide." His dark eyes flickered over the young woman. "Code 187 confirmed." His voice was low, deep, and neutral. "Victim is twenty-seven-year old Caucasian female. Roughly 5'2, 115 pounds. Records and ID correctly identify her as Medical Assistance Intern Mills, Nina. Was last seen living approximately 11:45 PM last night."

Daniels's camera clicked, whirred, and flashed. He twisted the lens and crouched down besides the VME. Trenton tilted the woman's head gently, turning to bare her pale throat for examination. "Single Vampire bite, directly into the carotid artery. Very minimal bruising." He skimmed a gloved finger over the puncture wounds as Daniel took another photo. "Clean, quick. No signs of struggle and no sighted blood."

That usually meant the perpetrator had lapped the wound clean. Trenton could see in his mind a clean pink tongue nursing at the wound as a kitten would with a saucer of milk, taking care not to miss a single drop... From the shudder that the lieutenant attempted to hide, it was apparent that Kennedy had thought of the same thing. Daniels gave no indication whether he had followed their train of thought or not. He merely did his job.

Trenton pressed on, Daniels a routine and quiet presence at his side. "Vampiric hypnosis is highly likely and suspected, based upon findings. Cause of death is Vampiric draining. Time of death yet to be determined. Compared to recent records in the attempted transformation of Registered Executioner Briefs, the bite radius on the victim's throat is a perfect match."

For procedure's sake, Trenton swabbed inside and outside the wounds and closed the cotton swab off in a cylindrical glass chamber. He twisted the lid, initializing the chemical process, and waited a moment before the thin screen that wrapped around the bottle-sized surface flashed a name. He held up the chamber for Daniels to take another photo. "Vampire is confirmed as Bulma Briefs, two-year-old Unclassified. Currently escaped from Angel of Mercy facilities." Trenton put down the chamber. "Executioner's warrant will be implemented immediately. There is no kin or spouse to contact for victim. Arrangements to be paid for and made by Angel of Mercy staff. There will be no additional examination; preliminary complete. Trenton signing off."

Trenton reached up and clicked off the device, the soft hissing noise of recording tape instantly silenced. There was the whisper of fabric as he pulled the white sheet over the body, a useless display of modesty. He tugged his hands abruptly from his gloves and tossed them aside, raking a long-fingered hand through his blonde hair. Daniels got up and went to the other side of the room. Trenton closed his eyes and said very softly, "_Fuck_..."

"Yeah," Kennedy agreed with a shaky breath. That summed it up pretty nicely. Tension was a hot knotted ball in his middle. Absently, he ran a steady hand over the sharp ache. He was going to give himself an ulcer with this job one of these days. "Fuck."

Trenton allowed himself the smallest of sighs and went about sealing his samples and replacing his utensils back in his field kit. Daniels had gotten up and moved to the other end of the room to check, clean and put away his camera and film. He was still quiet, but he stuffed his belongings into his big canvas bag with a little more force than necessary. "Damn it, Kennedy," Trenton muttered under his breath. "Something needs to be done."

"I know," he replied with strained patience. Of course he knew. Kennedy could count the nights he'd been able to sleep decently without all this whirling in his head on one hand. Things hadn't been this bad even when there'd been hundreds more Vampires running rampant. Then there had been two, only two, and the world had just spun sickly into a whole mess of trouble. Now there were five running around. _No_, Kennedy amended with a mental flinch, _there's five...and a half. _

"Can't do nothin'..." Trenton and Kennedy glanced over at Daniels as he stowed the last attachment to his camera. His back was to them, and if they weren't used to his slow drawl, it would've seemed as if he hadn't spoken to them at all. But his shoulders were tensed as he yanked the zipper closed, his low baritone deeper than usual. "We're vultures...only get the leftovers." He unfolded his lanky frame and got to his feet, slinging his case over his shoulder. His brown eyes were dimmed, tired and angry as he nodded his farewell to the men and strode quietly through the wide open door.

Kennedy pushed off the wall and watched him go, torn between wanting to talk with Daniels more and already having heard enough from the cryptic but poignant photographer. Daniels had a point—all they ever had was whatever was left of the victims. A couple of times—hell, even just once—Kennedy wanted to help the victims _before _they were victims. He was getting tired of avenging; he wanted to protect. He seemed to do so little of that these days.

"Kennedy."

"Hmm?" He'd take an antacid later, he promised himself when the pain nipped at his insides again. An antacid and a nap.

All of Trenton's supplies were put away, his field kit closed and tucked away nice and neat. The blonde sitting on the floor could be no more than thirty-two, yet he was another young man that seemed so old beyond his years. His sandy hair was streaked prematurely with gray, his closed onyx eyes fringed with dark circles. "Kennedy," he said again, adding almost respectfully, "Lieutenant Kennedy. I'm damned tired."

Kennedy looked down at his scuffed shoes, his hands tucked in the side pockets of his faded slacks. He understood, he really did. Kennedy could remember being young and feeling old. Now he was old, feeling older. "Me too, Nate," he sighed.

He got to his feet slowly, moving stiffly as if his bones ached. Trenton took hold of his field kit, glancing back at the blanketed intern on the floor. But when he spoke it was to Kennedy. "Stop giving me children on my table, Lieutenant."

Another time, Kennedy would've argued. He would've stiffly argued that _he _wasn't the one slaughtering people left and right, that he didn't like the bodies either. But Trenton had been the one to perform the final and official examination on Belle Atkins.

He was the only VME in the city, and it was his job to get the fingerprints off cold little fingers, to probe a ruined throat, study the bruises on fragile limbs, and eventually to cut open the tiny three-year-old. Trenton had taken out little Belle's heart and weighed it on a scale. He'd had to make sure the state had a grand enough case against Sinclair and that had meant slicing and measuring a child that was no more than a toddler. So Kennedy couldn't argue with him, and never would, not about this. After all, everyone wanted the same thing.

_No more children and young people on the table of the Vampiric Medical Examiner._

"I'll do my best," the lieutenant vowed quietly, taking Trenton's hand.

Trenton squeezed Kennedy's hand in return and made for the door without a backwards glance. The nurses would come soon and take the girl to the morgue only a floor below. For now, she was out of his hands. "That's all I ask, Lieutenant..."

* * *

The sun was hardly high in the noon sky and things were already chaotic at Angel of Mercy. The news of Nina Mills' murder and the escaped Vampiress that had killed her had spread fierce and quick through the ranks, leaving everyone unsettled and anxious. The hospital chapel was full of people, some praying for the soul of _"the poor stupid girl"_; but most were praying for themselves and bargaining with their respective gods to avoid a fate such as Nina's. 

The few cops the department could spare were spread out through the hospital. A detective or two interviewed some of the staff to find out more about Nina or the security down in the Vamp Ward. The rest merely looked lost and awkwardly out of place. No one was quite sure where the loosed Vampire had gotten to and if she was still around, their little guns would not be able to save them. Tension and fear were thick and heavy in the halls. Fear made doors open with caution, every room being entered anxiously. And worst of all, it made tempers and patience run short.

At the nurses' station on the fifth floor, Dr. Stevens slammed a fist on the counter, sending a clipboard skittering to the floor. The few patients in the waiting room there flinched. "I said I wanted the damned chart for the patient in Room 145 and I meant _now_, Williams!"

Taking the temperature of an unconscious man on a gurney, Williams snapped back, "Get off your lazy ass and get it yourself, Stevens! Can't you see I'm with a patient!?"

"All I see is a _male nurse_," Stevens sneered, "being insubordinate and not following orders. Do what you're told for once." Williams lifted his middle finger in a non-verbal response and sent Stevens's blood boiling. Stevens leapt out of his chair and shoved away from the counter, hands balled into fists at his sides. His tone was dark and dangerous, nervous energy looking for an outlet. "You got a problem, Williams?" he snarled.

Dark narrowed eyes flitted over him. "Yeah, and its name is Stevens; now back the fuck off and let me do my job." Williams dropped the electronic thermometer when Stevens took a handful of his shirt and spun him around. His own hands flew up in an attempt to dislodge the enraged doctor. The mobile patients in the room quickly relocated themselves to a less active part of the waiting room. The other doctor and two nurses came from behind the counter to calm the patients as Williams bellowed out, "Hey! Get your goddamn hands off of me!"

"Don't you know what happens to upstart little nobodies, Williams?" Stevens spit in his face, both hands fisted in Williams's uniform. He was breathing heavily, his brown eyes slits and his tanned neck and face flushed angry red. "They end up a midnight snack and get a one-way ticket to Trenton's table. You lookin' to follow after _Saint_ Mills, Williams?"

_"That!" _The one word was a verbal bullet, piercing through the conflict and tension like a flaming sword. Something akin to calm settled over the room. Stevens turned his head, temper in his eyes as he snarled at the interruption. His mouth twisted when he saw it was Anna standing at the threshold, cold and hard as granite.

Her eyes were frosty as she took in the sight of her disheveled waiting room. Her gaze panned slowly until it rested on Stevens and Williams. "That," she repeated in a softer, darker tone, "...will be more than enough." Several inches shorter and looking as if she hadn't gotten a wink of sleep, Anna still gave Stevens the impression that she was looking down on him, looming over him as she took slow, measured steps towards him. "Kindly remove your hands from the person of my employee, Dr. Stevens, and I mean immediately." The ice in her tone warned him not to argue.

Turning a last baleful glance over Williams, Stevens uncurled his hands from his shirt and shoved the nurse away from him with a disgusted snort. He took a moment to compose himself, closing his eyes and letting out a breath as he straightened his rumpled jacket. "Excuse me, Dr. Kinaki, but we were having a problem with taking or—" His next words were unheard over the solid thud of Anna's swinging fist against his cheekbone. The blow rocked him back a full step, his hand flying up to touch his throbbing face as he gaped at her. "You hit me," he hissed at her.

Her drawn face was expressionless. "I'll do a good more than that, Dr. Stevens, if I ever catch you assaulting my staff or disrespecting the departed in my hospital again. And if you dare even _whisper _the name of Nina Mills in anything but purely positive context, I assure you that you'll be stripped of your license and out on your ass faster than you can blink. Have some respect, Dr. Stevens—after all, she was _your _intern."

Stevens bared his teeth at her, then winced as the movement poured blood from the neat little gash Anna had torn into his cheek. He didn't need reminding that the bleeding heart "Saint Mills" had been one of his lowly interns.

Anna lowered her smarting hand, her tone neutral. "Williams, back to your patient, please." He needed no more prodding. "Nurse Tina, Nurse June, if you would help Dr. Hanes with the patients that have been waiting for care." She tilted her head slightly to flick a cool look to the wide-eyed collective. "Please excuse the disturbance. You will be cared for in the order of your arrival and the nature of your emergency. Thank you for your patience."

She turned on the heel of her practical shoes and clicked her way from the room and down the hall, leaving a floored and confused waiting room behind her. Anna went to the nurses' station on the ninth floor and sat down at a computer to complete the reports and paperwork waiting for her. Her workload had been lightened considerably. Someone else had taken care of the paperwork for the Mills case that morning, while she'd been busy down in the staff room with Frank, the fragile old janitor that had found the body.

He'd been a shaking, babbling wreck by the time she'd gotten through all the yellow tape to find him in the staff room. Someone had put a ratty blanket around his trembling shoulders. The paper cup of weak black coffee had been too much for his shaking hands to control and most of the liquid had sloshed over his hands and onto his clothes. Frank hadn't really noticed; he'd been in the grips of shock and terror. _"Thought she'd fallen. Thought she'd hit her head or she was just s-sleeping. Docs try to sleep wherever they can, y'know? Couldn't tell a-at first. No blood, there was no blood. Thought the young'un was just tired, getting some sleep. Poor little thing, poor girl. She never hurt nobody, never did. There was no blood, Annie, and I couldn't tell..." _And he'd started crying then, loud uncontrollable sobs of hysteria as Anna held him.

Anna finished her write-up on the amount of bandages and dressing supplies that the hospital needed to be shipped over and started on the letter to the Medical Board. Frank's daughter had come to pick him up and he'd bawled all the more, clinging to her. She bore only the slightest physical resemblance to Nina, but it was enough to keep Frank in a state of severe agitation. It was only sedated and drugged that the daughter had been able to take Frank away.

Home... Anna wanted to go home, but even when she worked beyond her shift, she couldn't bring herself to leave Angel of Mercy. She was worried that if she left, Trunks would come back and she wouldn't be there. Or maybe...she was hoping he would come back at all. Trunks had never returned last night and without the VZ Controller, Anna couldn't pinpoint where Kellis was and find her. She hated not knowing, because without the proper information, her imagination wandered. Anna had spent the night envisioning all the horrible things that could have happened to her boy out there in the dark with the monsters. When it was discovered that his mother was loose, it frightened her all the more. The last thing Anna had needed was to find her waiting room in such chaos, to be faced with the painful fact that human lives meant nothing anymore—least of all to the humans. Wasn't that funny? All this work, all the sacrifices and no one gave a damn anymore, not even a young life was cut horridly short.

"...na...An...Anna!"

She blinked blankly, only now aware that someone was calling her name and shaking her shoulder. As if moving through molasses, Anna turned her head slowly to find Kennedy staring down at her. Her brain was moving several degrees too slow. His eyes were dark with concern and he spoke carefully, as if making sure she would be able to keep up. "Anna... your hand is bleeding all over the keyboard. I think you need a bandage. Do you understand?"

Her gaze drifted down and she saw with subdued surprise that she had torn two of her knuckles clean open. She'd hurt her hand punching out her chief of surgery in the middle of a semi-crowded waiting room full of patients. For some reason unbeknownst to her, staring down at her bleeding hand, her heart hollow, Anna began to laugh. The sound was soft, at first, but eerily delighted. As Kennedy gently tugged her to her feet by her arm and wrapped a handful of tissue around her bloody fingers, the laughter grew into a full-bodied belly laugh. She was shaking, her ribs aching, by the time he'd adequately dressed her knuckles.

Kennedy spent a moment simply staring at her in her hysteria, sadness in his lined tired face. He took her seat in the office chair and gently tugged her down to his lap, holding her against him and resting her head against his shoulder. He ran a hand over her hair as he would a child, murmuring "It's okay, Anna," over and over until her frighteningly happy laughter dissolved into exhausted, heartbroken sobs. Grief and guilt raked ragged claws over her heart as she wept brokenly into Kennedy's shoulder. She poured out her worry, her fear and her frustration until there was nothing left, until she felt fragile and empty.

Silence fell for a long time between the pair of old friends, broken only by Anna's sniffling or Kennedy's soft soothing noises. Anna was the first one, more than twenty minutes later, to speak up softly. Her voice was hoarse, her throat raw from crying. A headache was throbbing in the center of her head. "...should I worry about Karen coming after me with your gun for sitting on your lap?"

Kennedy found it in him to smile tiredly at the mention of his wife. She made days like this worth it, because she gave him something to hold on to, to protect and fight for. He gave Anna a hug, somehow touched that she'd been able to unload her burden on him. She took on too much, bottling it all away, and he was relieved that she'd finally let some of it go. "Nah...you don't have to worry about Karen attacking you with my gun...If anything, she'll use a knitting needle."

* * *

FND: I really like this chapter; can't put my finger on it exactly, but I do. Startling! Pardon my sarcasm, but I'm cranky at the moment from lack of sleep and a hell of a lot of worrying. I hope you all enjoyed this installment of VH and please read and review. Next, we'll see how our nocturnal cast deals with their newest developments! See ya next time, ladies and gents...  



	17. Ties and Truth

FND: Hello again, old friends. Yes, I return to the land of the living writers after an unfortunate absence. I chalk it up to a long list of things, but the important thing is that I'm back now and raring to keep writing. As you may have read in last chapter's author's note, VH is officially four years old, and in the occasion, an account was created on Deviantart--by yours truly--centered around VH. It's there for fanart, random artwork that I do myself, and very possibly small side-stories or character histories. Eventually I will upload the entire fic there as well. You can find the link on my profile page, and I'd love to see more people enjoying it.

One more thing, guys, and then I'll stop boring you to death. I'd like to hear some prediction from you all, my readers, on what you think is going to happen in VH's future. Or, even, if you'd like, tell me what you WANT to happen. I'd love to see what you all think. Thanks, everyone, hope you enjoy! And, Shahi, thanks again for being my lifesaver!

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Chapter 17 

_Ties and Truth  
_

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He was surrounded by the empty darkness of sleep, cut off from light, sound, the natural world—and it didn't matter to him. He couldn't escape it, and he felt no need, no motivation to do so. He simply existed in it, free from thought and purpose. Lifeless. 

Then the voice came, piercing the shell of his pitch-black thoughtlessness. Coaxing, urging, the voice speared purpose into his mind like an arrow with a single word.

_Awaken..._

His eyelids clenched, his limbs twitching. He found that he not only desperately wished to respond, but was helpless to disobey. He was swimming through the darkness, fighting to bring himself to the surface. He was going to drown inches from the surface. There was panic now, fear that he wouldn't make it. The voice would leave him. He couldn't stay in the dark now, not now that he was aware. It would be nothing short of hell to be alone and silent in this darkness now.

_Awaken..._

The soft word was dripping with power and command now. He was almost there, almost out of the dark—just a little more. He needed one little boost, just the smallest of pushes and he would be free.

_Aulicus._

Consciousness hit him instantly, a splash of ice water. His eyes flew open, wide and blind, as he jackknifed into a sitting-straight position, gasping like a diver that had been under for much too long. He drew in great, ragged gulps of air, chest heaving as his mind went from dead silence to instant awareness.

It was forty-two minutes after sunset. There was a half moon tonight. The room was pitch black, white curtains whispering along the open windows—four, four windows against the eastern wall. And then he was only aware of the deep golden eyes glimmering at him in the dark, the cool white hands that were softly sliding over his own dark skin. The moment he met her gaze, his entire being clicked into perfect focus.

Her scent filled his senses, slowed his racing thoughts as he became aware of her body straddling the length of his. She was wrapped sinuously around him, her long white legs on either side of his hips. His lips parted as he struggled to find his voice, but the soft pad of a fingertip tapped his mouth gently. She wanted no words from him, not now. Those molten golden eyes were intent on his, and he found he could not look away, not even when they flamed to bright blue. Her voice was low in the dark as she murmured again, "Aulicus..."

The wave of calm that washed over him was instant and powerful. She was his voice, his purpose in life. And she had not left him. His body warmed, clenched in response to hers. His vision shifted slightly, pleasured a smile from her as he blinked up at her with his own blue eyes. His hands lifted, slid along her bare skin until his fingers rested along the curves of her hips. "Mistress," he whispered thickly to her. "My Mistress..."

"Yes," Satin purred in triumph, fisting her hand in his thick, dark hair as she brushed her lips faintly over his. She had not given him her name, and yet he had recognized her. The ritual had worked perfectly this time. "Dear Aulicus." She felt him shiver against her and laughed, a low feminine sound that had nothing to do with being a Vampiress and everything with being a woman. "I have a task for you, your first test to prove yourself. I will have no less than your perfect obedience and I will not tolerate any failure. Do you understand me, Aulicus?"

"A-Anything," he mumbled reverently, burying his face in the curve of her neck. Her skin was so soft, so cool against his fevered skin. This blessed goddess had rescued him from the darkness, taken him into her loving embrace when he was nothing. He would be her everything, whatever she wanted him to be; he existed now solely for her wishes. He would die at a mere word from her. "Anything you want, _mi amante_. I won't fail you..." He lifted his head, turned his face up to hers, desperately seeking her mouth again with his own. He groaned as she rocked her body against his. "W-What do I do?"

Satin's low-lidded eyes glimmered in the dark. "You are going to bring me someone, Aulicus, whom will be of great use..."

* * *

Silesia was just about done with her work for the day and not a damned moment too soon. Rolling her neck to loosen a bit of tension there, she recalled just why it was she intervened as a Specialist for blood-children so rarely. It was a great big pain in her ass. 

She had called Kennedy that afternoon and assured him that yes, they were still alive and in near-mint condition. Anna had been sleeping, sedated after what Silesia had been told was a very difficult day, so he couldn't pass the good news along to her just yet. But he'd been very relieved to hear that she and Trunks would be returning soon. Silesia had sworn bitterly when she'd been told that the Briefs Vampiress had escaped. No doubt she'd come looking for her son, which made Silesia's night a whole lot more difficult.

Kennedy had asked about how Kellis had fared the night before and Silesia explained calmly that she was taking care of everything. Her next call had been to one of the teams under her command and enlisting their help. As the Specialist Commander for SIF, the Supernatural Intervention Forces, Silesia had no trouble gathering eager teammates. She had met up with them back in the empty parking lot and had given them a short, emotionless recount of the last night's events. She'd informed them of Satin Sin's last coordinates and the addition of a mad unregistered fledgling. Silesia's orders were for termination on sight. It was those very same orders that had gotten her into this trouble in the first place.

Standing on the sidewalk of the abandoned city block, she glanced up at the building where she'd left the sleeping Hunter. He'd be awake soon, and no doubt, he'd have questions about what she'd done that day. After studying him in the short span of time she'd known him, Silesia estimated that Trunks would be short and impatient with her evading his questions. But procedure dictated that her information remain classified for now. _Which will, undoubtedly, piss him the fuck off,_ she thought with only a bit of cheer.

Soon-to-be-furious Trunks notwithstanding, Silesia was the picture of serenity waiting on the sidewalk. Her hands were loose and casual at her sides, her eyes concealed behind shades that reflected the faint moonlight glaring off the few remaining windows. The shades were a protective measure, and something that anyone walking by would dismiss as an eccentricity. She radiated harmlessness, from her white hair bound at the nape of her neck to the cuffs of the clean faded jeans that flooded over her boots. The bag at her feet was easily forgettable, a simple duffel bag with no hints as to its contents.

If she had been in any other neighborhood, she could've been mistaken for an ordinary, normal woman. A primary target, helpless to defend herself. She almost wished that someone would fall for the guise and try to make a mark out of her. Silesia wouldn't have minded getting rid of some of her frustration.

Her stance didn't change an inch when the slender white town-car eased down the slushy, icy street and slowed to a stop before her. The vehicle was clean and gleaming white and chrome in the dark. For the life of her, Silesia couldn't see what the appeal was in a car that stood out so painfully. _You could never stalk your prey in a car like that; even in the dead of night, they'd see you coming from a mile away._

The pitch-black tinted rear window lowered steadily with a soft hiss. Silesia stared impassively into the dark interior until an indifferent violet eye swiveled to focus on her. The other was tucked behind a velvet eye patch. The husky, slow voice that rose from the darkness greeted her coolly. "In trouble again, I see."

Her superiors had called and had soundly scolded her when they'd learned she had sent out a task force. Silesia was suspended on mandatory personal leave and she'd had no business launching any kind of assault on a suspended license—or taking in a blood-child while on suspension. She'd broken the rules, and now she was being paid a visit by her least favorite officer—it was an ugly surprise and one she would not easily forgive her superiors for.

Silesia nodded her head, the slightest show of respect she was forced to show a higher rank. "Master General Helena."

The woman was only a few years older than her, only one rank above her, but Master General Breanne Helena seemed to believe that was enough to throw her hierarchical weight around HQ. Silesia was the only one who gave her shit about it, which meant that—after substantial damages and bloodletting—their superiors saw to it that they had limited contact with each other.

Helena's expression was a mask of indifference. "In accordance with the Peace Maintenance Act," she intoned, "a suspended licensed sorceress, until reinstated by her higher officers, is stripped of her title, her tasks, her authority, and her powers." That one lilac eye drifted down to Silesia's throat. "I do not see your magic suppression collar, Commander."

"No, ma'am, you do not." Silesia's tone was casual, almost bored, as if there were other, more important things she could be doing at the moment. "I must respectfully mention, Master General, that I do not—and have never had to—report to you on my status, suspended or otherwise."

Helena lowered her eyelid. How just like the girl to be completely neutral while giving off a clear 'fuck off' aura. The Master General lifted her chin imperiously. "And now you do. Orders are straight down from the brass after you not only ignored your forced leave and took a blood-child, but also called a task force on Satin Sin. I am your superior for the remaining portion of your assignment, and I assure you that you will follow the by-laws set in place for you."

Silesia brushed at a loose lock of her ivory hair escaping the knot at the nape of her neck. "This assignment will be done in less than an hour," she informed the other woman neutrally. "And I have already given HQ my progress report." Her blue-grey eyes intently studied the face in the interior darkness. "That means I have nothing to say to you. Ma'am," she added politely.

"The first, non-negotiable condition to your status is the immediate rebinding of your suppression collar." Helena continued on as if Silesia hadn't dismissed her. "The second is the overturn of Registered Executioner Briefs into the custody of the SIF. You should not have accepted him in the first place, nor the Vampire who was to mentor him."

Silesia pushed her shades up, more to conceal her eyes than to adjust them. "As a Specialist Commander, I am more than capable—"

"How you achieved such a rank is still beyond my comprehension," Helena interrupted frostily. "Surely it wasn't from your knack for actually following orders or your astounding respect for your superiors."

Silesia turned her head away slightly, schooling her features. "It could be that I happen to have two functioning eyes," she answered carefully.

There was a tense, uneasy moment of glaring, years of repressed conflict burning between them. "Something to say, ma'am?" Silesia finally asked, only the faintest hint of hope in her tone. She was itching to duke it out with Helena one of these days. She believed the Master General would find that there wasn't such a vast difference between them at all.

"You are awfully arrogant today." Helena relaxed back against her seat, still watching the white-haired sorceress with only the barest flicker of contempt in her gaze. "That's a bad trait to have in this business. We all know what happens when we think we are invincible. That's when we die." Her hard violet eye pierced Silesia. "Some of us have had it hit closer to home than others...isn't that right, Commander Atkins?"

Silesia's hair began to stir slightly as if a breeze moved over the still, quiet street. Her posture was still relaxed, her tone still casual. "You have one minute to get away from me, Breanne, and then I'm going to cut your other eye out."

A bitter smirk lifted the corners of the Master General's mouth briefly. "Your attitude problem, Commander, is going to be your downfall one of these nights. You are hereby conditioned to rendezvous with Ms. Remnants and I after your assignment, regarding your insubordination and the reinstatement of your suspension. Is that clear, Commander?"

Silesia stared coldly at her, her eyes very dark in her face. "You now have 48 seconds."

Helena shook her head, still as blasé as she'd been at the beginning of the conversation. "No later than 2300, Commander. Try and keep that temper of yours in check until then, hmm?" She waved a hand at her driver as her window rolled back up, leaving Silesia staring into her own frosty reflection. The car eased away from the curb at an easy pace and disappeared around the corner.

Silesia reached down carefully to pick up her bag, slinging it over one shoulder as she turned to head back up to check on Trunks; he'd be waking up soon, if he wasn't already awake and pacing up a storm. _Not done yet. Still have the job to do, still have responsibilities..._

Her fingers tight on the strap of her bag, she took two steps forward and the bulbs of the streetlights above her shattered, raining glass over her.

She let out a slow, shaky breath when the storefront window at her side trembled, a vast river of fractures spreading like ripples on the surface of the pane. She caught a brief glimpse of herself in the glass and saw her own glowing eyes staring back. Her sunglasses gave a warning crack before she managed to yank them off her face.

"_Damn_it!" she hissed when the shades fragmented in her hand. She tossed aside the ruined frames and closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. Her temperamental magic kicked back in defiance and the cracked window broke loudly, glass flying into the interior of the old, abandoned store as if a brick had crashed through it.

She was out of practice with her control and it took her a good few minutes to restrain the simmering, angry magic back inside. Silesia damned her own weakness and vulnerability as she blew out counted, methodical breaths. She shouldn't have allowed Helena to get to her. She was too good for this, too professional to let something as stupid and petty as the Master General's jeers rile her up. But Silesia had always been sensitive when it came to family.

She flexed her fingers slowly around the strap of her duffle bag, sighed softly as she bore down stronger until her magic was tightly bound. When she opened her eyes again, she was almost the same calm, relaxed person she'd been before the visit.

It was only her eyes; she knew in the sharp enhancement of her physical sight that she hadn't been able to quell the magic in them. If she looked into a reflection, they'd be a clashing, sparking mix of blue and grey. Silesia couldn't let Trunks see her this way. He'd ask a million and one probing questions and she just didn't have the patience for that right now.

Silesia closed her eyes and murmured a word of power as she touched a fingertip to one, then the other eye. She opened them and blinked a few times, still adjusting to the sharpened eyesight. But she knew that anyone looking at her wouldn't be able to see the magic still glimmering in her eyes. Silesia rarely used glamour—only when necessary to conceal wounds in battle, because otherwise it was simply glorified makeup—but tonight it would get her through the rest of her mission.

Her fingers clenched into fists and she bit down hard on her lip as the now-familiar pang of grief struck her in her chest. _You will pull yourself together, _she berated herself fiercely, her heart turning sickly in her chest. The grief threatened to rise against her will, threatened to overcome her. It hadn't even been two weeks since she'd been called into her supervisors' office and told neutrally that there had been an "incident" that required her attention._Prove to those idiot generals that you don't need to be on leave. You can handle this—you can get through this assignment!_

"Hey. Everything all right out here?"

The low, deep tones of the Hunter's voice from high above her forced Silesia to settle herself. This was her task and she would do it well, goddamn it. She tilted back her head to look up at him, her expression neutral. He was leaning out of one of the unbroken windows, bare-chested and holding one of her daggers competently. "_I'm_ supposed to be protecting _you_," she drawled. "Go on back inside."

"I heard glass breaking." Trunks' fingers tapped the window sill rhythmically as his blue eyes scanned the street. It was empty and quiet. "And I felt magic." He didn't add that he could see her broken glasses fractured at her feet or that her aura was tugging at his senses. His intent eyes simply locked onto her face, silently demanding an explanation.

"I had business to take care of," she told him and watched his eyes narrow at her evasion. _You'll have to deal with it, Trunks. I am not screwing my job up to spare your feelings. _"I'll be up there soon." Silently, Trunks vanished from the window and Silesia began to walk for the hotel's entrance.

It took her a few minutes to travel up the winding stairwells that took place of the broken elevator. She entered their hotel room quietly, making sure the door clicked closed behind her as she let her bag slide to the floor. She glanced at the scattered clothes he'd left down on the floor the previous night and called out, "Are you ready to go?"

"Depends." Trunks' voice had become toneless, almost professional. She turned to find him coming out of the spare bedroom, shrugging himself into an extra jacket that seemed to be in good condition. He adjusted his collar and shook his hair out of his face, flexing his fingers around the handle of her dagger. "Where should I be ready to go to now?"

Silesia studied him calmly. "_You_ are going back to Angel of Mercy. After I drop you off there, I'm off to wrangle up Kellis and her fledgling." She waited for the demand to be included in the hunt and retrieval, the protest that he didn't need to be babysat at the hospital.

His expression and tone didn't change in the slightest as he corrected, "Fledglings."

Her ivory brows drew down. "I beg your pardon?"

Trunks flipped the dagger skillfully between his fingers before extending it to her, hilt first. He met her gaze squarely. "_Fledglings. _There are two of them: Apollo and Artemis."

She slipped the blade into the sheath at her wrist, wondered if his training was beginning to kick in again. _What wonderful timing. It kicks in _after _the fighting ends_, she thought crossly."Wow, those names are just too much, even for Ms. Kellis." Hefting her bag onto her shoulder again, Silesia jerked her head in the direction of the door. "I haven't got all night. Let's go."

If he was offended or put off by her brusque behavior tonight, he made no comment on it. Instead, he turned his palms up in a questioning gesture. "How do you plan to accomplish that? You don't have a car." Silesia paused, remembered, and scrubbed a hand over her face. Trunks watched this exchange before announcing mildly, "I can fly you there. That is, if you're not afraid of heights."

She shot him something of a dirty look, which he returned with tranquil blankness. Silesia could manage a levitation spell that would take her as far as Angel of Mercy—and would slam her down into unconsciousness for no less than 24 hours. He'd managed to worm his way into her plans just that quickly, the sneaky bastard, and she cursed herself for forgetting he was renowned for his brilliance. "Real sorceresses aren't afraid of heights."

He hesitated, only for a moment, his eyes darting down to his boots and Silesia saw the shy, awkward man she'd met in front of Angel of Mercy. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something before Trunks gave himself a shake. He turned his mind away from warm summer nights sitting on a wide balcony, away from the mildly indignant voice intoning that she would be damned if she'd fly with him, even just a little bit, the laughter that followed... That was another time, another place, and it was gone now.

When he looked up at Silesia again, she had the chance to see what the Vampires he stalked must see: the cold blue eyes of the Hunter. "Anna and Jack are waiting," he informed her, turning away and going back to the window he'd leaned out of earlier. "It's best we don't keep them."

Silesia followed him, the corners of her mouth turned down in a small frown. It was almost a shame that his mind was so heavily guarded now—the thoughts he'd just masked would've made for an interesting glance. She watched him climb out onto the window sill, slipping her head outside. "Have you practiced being airborne with your new senses yet?" she demanded.

Trunks didn't look down at her, gazing instead towards the glimmering lights of the city and the hospital in the distance. The lights were astoundingly bright... Why were they so bright? His eyes drifted to the hospital miles away. He could almost count every window on the side of the building facing him... "Real sorceresses aren't afraid of heights," he returned evenly. The next sound he heard was the scrape of her boots against the window sill as she climbed out to join him.

She calculated the distance to be roughly around eight stories from there to the ground. She cut her eyes sideways to Trunks, planted her feet sturdily for balance. "So...how exactly does this w—_hey!_" Silesia scrambled back, startled and on guard when a sharp sweep of heated wind skittered over her. It was coming from Trunks, only faintly visible as it wavered just above the surface of his body. Silesia took a crooked backwards step in her retreat and felt empty air under her boot.

Fingers like steel bands curled around her forearm and yanked her hard against a firm, lean chest before her mind even had the time to truly panic. The empty air of a free fall was replaced by arms corded with muscle and the strange warm wind that had startled her. There was only a moment where gravity continued to take them swiftly down before they were propelled forward into the night.

Trunks glanced down at the sorceress in his arms. Her face was hidden from him in the whipping sail of her white hair. A snarky remark was on the very tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it back. He imagined she felt foolish enough already for having been surprised as easily as she had. There were plenty of things that he could say to her, demand of her. But now wasn't the time for his questioning. He would interrogate her later, much later, after they'd taken care of their business for tonight, and he had gotten a chance to explore just what it was being a Halfling meant...

* * *

FND: Hehehe, okay, this chapter has been long in coming---more importantly a _moment _in this chapter has been long in coming. Lemme hear some feedback, guys, you have no idea how much it helps! Read and review please, and see you next chapter! 


	18. Fantastical Fascination

FND: Yes, it's short, but there's more on the way. Please bear with me! And if you're impatient for more "VH", check out my newest work: _**"Marigold"**_.

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Chapter 18

_Fantastical Fascination_

* * *

The long grass that had sprouted up through the old, broken concrete felt nice and cool against her rosy, warmed skin. Newly fed and comfortable, Bulma stretched lazily and sighed, nestled nicely in a wild niche of vegetation. Her smile was small, content as she breathed in the haunting scent of the clumps of amaranth flowers that dominated the little patch of vegetation. She'd always liked the small, sweet flowers and the astounding variety of colors they came in.

The sky visible between the broken building structures was dark, far enough away from the working city lights for her to make out faint outlines of stars. Amused, she used her finger and traced connections from dot to brilliant dot, outlining the constellations she knew by heart. The light from the curve of a half moon made her skin white in the dark—the pale, translucent white skin of a ghost or some strange, ethereal beauty. Her pink lips curved and she indulged in a very soft laugh, blue eyes twinkling. She was getting sentimental in her old age, wasn't she? At that thought, she threw back her head and laughed again, louder. 'Old age' indeed! She was fifty-three and didn't look a damned day over thirty.

Her husband had missed no opportunity to sneer at her years ago whenever he'd caught her indulging her in youthful, obsessive vanity. _"How many times do I have to tell you, woman? It doesn't matter what you do, you'll get just as old and wrinkly as the rest of the pitiful weaklings on this planet!"_

The pleased smile ebbed slightly and her expression became thoughtful. Well...he hadn't been her husband, not _technically_... But Bulma wondered what Vegeta would think if he could see her now. She folded her hands over her stomach and mulled it over. It had been some time since she'd thought of the proud Saiyan man that had flipped her entire life upside-down almost a quarter-century ago. He'd been a vain creature himself, her mighty Prince of All Saiyans—an arrogant, scarred and handsome demi-god among the _insignificant mortals._ They'd despised each other on sight and mere principle, had spent their days sniping and arguing fiercely over every little thing. It hadn't taken long for their angry passion to shift into another kind of fire between them.

They enjoyed each other in a basic, primal way. He wanted her. She wanted him. It was little more than that, at first. During and after their affairs, they continued their usual fighting with just as much meanness and spite. But once in a while, the stoic prince would let something slip and Bulma had begun to see that the Saiyan had his own demons to fight, like everyone else. He was morbidly obsessed with his own lifespan, pushed just short of madness to gain immortality. He was a Saiyan, aged impossibly slow, healed every wound, and would've remained healthy and handsome for decades, had he lived long enough. But still, Vegeta had been desperately afraid of death, though he'd have curled his fingers viciously around her throat had she ever spit the truth of it at him.

Bulma stared pensively at the sky. She was still beautiful, which she believed he would've liked. Part of her had always worried if Vegeta would've remained interested in her once she'd gotten older. It had been one of her insecurities when she'd been pregnant with her son. But her own eternal beauty aside, she wondered now if Vegeta would've become a Vampire, if he'd had the chance. To be immortal, like he always wanted, without that fear hanging over his every waking moment—to still be with her to this day...

She closed her eyes and remembered one of the few times he'd actually spent the whole night with her. She'd lain beside him and watched him sleep, confused and surprisingly endeared by the relaxed, almost vulnerable expression on his face. His tanned skin so dark against her white sheets, his hair like black fire across her pillow, his arm tucked under his cheek, the other curled possessively around her waist, even in respite...

Her eyes opened halfway. The thought of Vegeta hiding from the sun, forever lurking in the shadows seemed..._wrong_, somehow. Immortal or not, she'd always seen him as some bright, defiant star, proud and fierce. She couldn't see him ducking the light, recoiling from something as measly as holy water, or to have to submit to the hunger for blood. She shook her head in silent dissent. It just wasn't something she'd wish upon Vegeta, not even to keep him with her. Relying on a human for blood would've driven him mad, would've caused him endless shame and disgrace. Perhaps his warrior's death had been right for him, after all...

Oh, but Trunks had been so excited when he'd come back from the past, full of stories and ramblings about the father he'd never known. Yes, she'd been right when she'd told him Vegeta was an ass of man and no, he _had_ seen a difference in Vegeta before he'd left.

_Tsk. My poor boy, _Bulma sighed in her mind. _He always wanted so desperately to be accepted by his father... _She wasn't sure how the Vegeta of the past had turned out after Trunks' intervention, but the Vegeta she'd known and loved had wanted absolutely nothing to do with "_her_ half-breed brat". After the initial sting of his rejection, Bulma had been determined to be both mother and father for her son, until Vegeta decided he was ready to be a damned father.

But then... Goku had died, and a great part of Vegeta's world crashed over his head. If there was only one obsession greater than his need for immortality, it was his desire to finally best the one he called Kakarot. And when Bulma's dearest childhood friend had sickened and died suddenly, Vegeta was one of the hardest hit. If the only one Vegeta ever considered to be greater than himself could be killed by something so-so _lowly _as a virus, then...what possible hope was there for Vegeta?

Still hurting from his rejection, Bulma nevertheless had tried to be there for Vegeta. He grew even more distant, spending all his time training, pushing himself to the very edge of death again and again in futile hope that he would grow stronger and live just a while longer. He was beyond desperate at that point and more than once, Bulma had decided that he had finally lost his thin grasp on sanity. He had confided in her once, the last time they were together, that he was inches away from becoming one of the legendary Super Saiyans, one far stronger than any level Kakarot had ever achieved.

A week later the Androids had ended his life like the wind snuffs out a flame. After what she'd been told was hours of absolute torture, just a flicker of light, a low burst of energy from those monsters, and her all-powerful lover was gone.

She plucked one of the ruby amaranth blossoms beside her and twirled its vibrant green stem between her fingers pensively. She remembered feeling violently ill that day, a wretched tightness in her chest and a sticky sourness in her gut. Little Gohan had come to Capsule Corp. that night, beaten bloody and sobbing apologies. _T-They got him, _the half-Saiyan child had hiccupped, scrubbing blood and tears from his face. _I'm so s-sorry, Bulma, Vegeta...he was—his legs, he couldn't get away... _

Bulma curled her fingers tight, crushing the fragile bloom in her fist as she sat up. Her expression was dispassionate as she stared at the torn crimson petals against her white skin. It had been almost twenty years since then, but she recalled clearly holding her toddler son that night and laughing hysterically until she was bawling, her child's frightened screams nearly drowned out by her own noise. It had taken Gohan more than an hour to pry her howling son from her clinging, desperate arms.

The next few weeks passed by in a blur of grief and hazy pain until Gohan's persistence and the mewling whimpers of her son had forced her out of her fog. Bulma had begun to live again, but that had been the beginning of the loneliness: a deep, throbbing wound of pain and longing that never completely healed over.

But Bulma had the opportunity to fix that now. She shook the shredded flower petals from her hand and watched them drift down to the ground listlessly. She could have her son with her—and if she worked hard enough, she'd have him forever.

It wouldn't be easy, by any means. Bulma remembered clearly the prickling hatred and contempt her son had shown her in the Dark Haven Cemetery, the careless, certain way Trunks had told her that he'd kill her right along with Dominique, the icy detachment with which he'd broken her arm like a twig... No, it wouldn't be easy at all. But Bulma _did_ have one advantage now that she didn't have before. He'd wanted to get rid of her because she wasn't Human anymore. Well, he wasn't Human anymore either. She'd seen to that herself. If that lieutenant and that doctor hadn't gotten involved, she'd have been able to complete her baby's transcendence. Her lips trembled into a small smile. He'd been so needy and desperate for her when she'd gone to his hospital room, wrapped tight in her arms as she listened to his tiring, weak heart beating pitifully. She had been so close...and had failed.

The wind stirred again, twisting flower petals into her short turquoise hair. "If you're trying to hide," she said thoughtfully to the silent shadows, "you're not doing a very good job of it." She turned her head, letting the blue light of Vampirism fill her eyes. "Then again, you're just a baby, aren't you?"

Flat eyes watched her silently from the darkness.

"She's got you on a very short leash, doesn't she?" Her mouth stretched into an amused half-smile, showing only enough of her fangs to disprove her mortality. "Well, you can go right back and tell your creator that I'll convert my son on my own—and I won't share him with her." Bulma nodded primly and dismissed the stranger with a dainty wave of her hand. "Go on, go on. The next time she wants to have a little talk, she can come see me herself."

"Arrogant bitch." The voice was low and thick—and so very young. As her visitor stepped from the shadow, Bulma sighed a little for the poor mother out there somewhere that was surely mourning her lost child. He could only be five or so years older than her own boy. "Don't take her lightly." She was actually disappointed when he returned back into the shadows. "I'll be back."

Bulma's smile was gone now, replaced by morbid curiosity. "I look forward to it, young man," she assured him softly as his fading footsteps were swallowed by the wind.

* * *

_Her palms were damp inside her thin leather gloves, her fingers trembling ever so slightly on the grip of her weapon. She forced her voice to be firm and steady in the freezing darkness. Snow clung sharply to the knot of pale blonde hair curled at the nape of her neck. "This is General Adelina Atkins of the Aderes Order speaking." Her own voice echoed back to her hollowly. "You have one minute to show yourself and surrender peacefully before I exercise necessary force to subdue you, as per my orders."_

"_You're a bit young for this, aren't you?" _

_Her delicate weapon jerked as she whipped around, trying desperately to get a lock on the voice bouncing off the walls of the decrepit, crumbling cathedral. Despite the freezing Budapest winter, sweat trickled a chilly line down her spine. She fought back a shiver as her gray eyes danced around for her target. She'd lost her communicator on her way to the church; she was essentially on her own. The thin, sharp stiletto shook in her hand ."I repeat, you have one minute to surrender yourself peacefully into my c-custody—" The sensation of being watched had her voice stammering nervously._

"_I didn't know those old bastards sent _children _to fight their battles for them now." That voice, that damnable voice, was impossible to pinpoint. With the acoustics of the old building and the dampening factor of the snow, the woman's words seemed to originate from everywhere at once. For all Lina knew, the cool words were borne on the same icy harsh wind that whirled in through the broken stain-glass windows. "You ought to go home, little girl, before you get yourself hurt."_

_Lina stiffened, her spine going rigid in the face of her fear. She was a goddamned general, wasn't she? Her grandmother had warned her about this particular Vampire, the Order had intelligence on her. Lina was prepared. She flexed her fingers on her weapon as she circled slowly, silently. The voice was closer now. Her eyes focused on the remains of leaning stone support column and she crept carefully forward. "You now have approximately thirty seconds to surrender yourself peacefully."_

"_You sound like a broken record, you know."_

_Changing her stance into something that would enhance her movement, she held her breath and went still with her back against the curve of the column, muscles tense. Lina didn't dare to close her eyes even for a moment, so she swallowed hard and prepared herself. With a steady grip on the stiletto and a silent Gaelic prayer, she launched herself around the curve of the column, arm poised mid-level for an instant strike._

_Her blade hit empty air._

_The faintest whisper sounded behind her. "Lost?" Lina gasped and whirled herself around, only to have cold fingers curl around her wrist, halting the stiletto in the air. "Oh, no, none of that." As her breath clogged in her chest, Lina realized she finally had a face to go with the voice that had been haunting her in this godforsaken church. Direct emerald green eyes set in an ethereally pale face studied her casually, the unsmiling mouth a thin line above a lightly pointed chin.. Her hair was night-black and straight as poured water, stirring in the snowy breeze. Dominique Kellis matched her photograph—and her grandmother's description of her—exactly. To Lina's surprise, the other woman looked just several years older than she herself was, but the strength with which Dominique held onto Lina's wrist was no joke._

_Lina jerked on her arm. There was no slack in the woman's grip. "Let go of me!" she hissed. She arched her leg up to deliver a strong short kick and the immortal held her leg suspended. Lina twisted her body and ended up having her last leg swept from under her. She hit the floor hard enough to knock the air from her lungs, leaving her gasping on the slick stone floor._

_Dominique crouched down beside her, leaning over her with her head tilted slightly. Not once did those green eyes blink, not even when those cold fingers curled around her throat firmly. Lina struggled and the woman tightened her grip warningly. "You don't heal a crushed windpipe," she reminded Lina, "so I suggest you don't move around so much." Lina went absolutely still. "Now...you're going to answer my questions. My first question: how old are you, little girl?"_

"_I am not a little girl," Lina spit through clenched teeth, her thin fingers curled around Dominique's wrist. In silent response, Dominique applied enough pressure to make Lina work for her next breath. "Eleven!" she gasped out. "I'm eleven!"_

"_I thought so." The Vampire lowered her lashes. "Sounds to me like Aderes is running out of options if he's using children to do his worldwide hunting. Next question: how did you find me?"_

"_You've been sighted in this church multiple times in the last thirty years." Lina strained her fingers for the stiletto she dropped and Dominique flexed her fingers harder. "It was a g-gamble...with little chance of finding you..."_

"_It was a gamble with your life and your little chance of keeping it, little girl. Anyone else who stalked me here would be dead. Now listen and listen closely." Dominique lifted Lina off the ground with one hand until the girl was eyelevel with her. _

_Gray eyes stared anxiously into green. Lina's breathing was labored, her small heart beating frantically in her chest. Through the haze of low oxygen was a thick layer of fear. _What did I get myself into? _Lina silently lamented. _Why did I think I could do this? What kind of general am I?

"_In a few moments, I am going to let you go and I am going to leave. You will not follow me, you will not track me, and you will _not _come back to Budapest." Dominique reached into the inside pocket of her thin coat and took out Adelina's small communicator. "You should be more careful with your toys, little girl." She pushed the distress signal on the device and let it drop to the snowy ground. "Your masters should come get you in an hour's time." She paused when she noticed the thin trickles of tears streaming from Lina's eyes._

"_Why don't you just kill me and stop toying with me?" Lina rasped hoarsely. "Pretending you're going to let me go is just cruel and sick."_

_To Lina's astonishment, Dominique rolled her eyes and blew out a breath. "You just can't take a gift graciously, can you, kid? So, let me get this straight. I'm letting you live and have actually called people to rescue you, and you wanna debate that I'm toying with you so I can kill you? Kids these days. So cynical." She dropped Lina onto the ground and stuck her hands in her pockets, watching the girl gain her bearings. "I've no more time to play with you—the main point is that if you come back to Budapest, I'll end you. And try being a little damn grateful that I'm leaving you in one piece this time, would you?" She turned on her heel and started to stroll away from the gaping child on the snow-covered stones. "By the way, 'General Adelina Atkins'...you're the only general to have ever attacked me and lived. Congratulations."_

_Lina stared incredulously at the retreating form of the Vampire until a biting wind forced her to blink. When she opened her eyes again, the Vampire was gone. Her mind reeling, Lina sat there with her fingers on her bruised throat, unaware that beneath all the fear and confusion...there was fascination._

* * *

FND: As always please review and let me know what you think. Again, yes, I know it's short, but bear with me, there's more on the way.


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